Blink of an Eye
by amiddle
Summary: This is a dark history laden tale of the fourth Doctor and the first Romana, focusing on her rite of passage as a Time Lord. Set between The Armageddon Factor and Destiny of the Daleks.
1. Prologue

**Prologue – The Invisible Sun**

It was shortly after High Ebb, the murkiest time of the dark cycle, when the water levels rose, the temperature dropped, and the fog thickened, reducing what little visibility there was to less than a few feet. It was Nard's first season scouting for the Guard, and despite the less than hospitable environment, he had stuck to his duty without a cycle's break. Loyalty, he believed, would see him rewarded with acceptance into the ranks of the Honour Guard, and an opportunity to join its secret war against the enemy.

Nard was a young man, and like many of his kind his skin was pale and bloated, his pupils wide, and his hair thin. While the fallen usually slept through High Ebb, this was the time when _they_ were most active. The enemy. The filthy, dirty _menks_.

_They_ were why Nard was here in the hide, huddled away on the outskirts of the forest, knee-deep in a mossy ditch and sheltered only by the flimsiest canopy down which the constant drizzle of humid water flowed. Threatening to pollute the world with their fishy stink and peaceful overtones. It was only a matter of time before they returned to their warlike ways and re-ignited their conflict with the fallen.

Then he heard it. The unmistakable click-clack of armoured peraeopods sidling through the mist-sodden bog. He reached for his spyglass, snapping it open and extending its light-catching parabola before placing it to his eyes.

The parabolic spyglass was a device unique to the fallen. Powered by the very photons that it captured, the spyglass filtered out the mist, which interfered with visibility, and picked out the details of even the darkest recesses. It was an essential tool for the fallen, whose eyesight had barely adjusted to the perpetual night of their adopted home world.

With just a brief scan, Nard caught a glint of light reflected by his quarry, a mounted menk heading from the river towards a nearby mountain path. Easing himself up from his knees, he left the hide, his oversized galoshes squelching in and out of the mud as he waded towards the city. Within a few moments he passed through the gates and into the City Square. He crept through its deserted streets until he reached his destination. Once there, he knocked hard three times on its solid wooden door.

Within a few moments the sound of a latch unbolting gave way to the yawning creak of perhaps the biggest, heaviest door in the city. Behind it stood the biggest, heaviest man in the city. Pulling a cloak over his big frame, a great bear of a man looked down upon Nard. His white hair long and rangy, his silver beard full, and his single piercing eye a distinctive shade of pink, which Nard could make out even through his light-enhancing lens.

"M-menk," Nard stammered, "heading through the forest towards the Monastery. I saw him not three minutes hence."

"Excellent," replied the man, closing the hasp of his lilac-blue cloak, which bore the insignia of Lord Commander of the Honour Guard, "it's been a while since we've had some sport."

Pulling down the cowl of his hood over his face, the Commander drew out a large iridescent horn, fashioned from the hefty shell of a great nautilus. Beside eyeholes, the cowl also had a crude hole for his mouth, through which he placed the horn. Taking a deep breath, he blew long and hard into the mouthpiece, producing a loud continuous note, which summoned his brethren from their boltholes around the village.

Within a few minutes Nard stood watching the hooded riders leave the city, torches lit and arms bared, galloping off in search of their hated prey. From the houses around him Nard saw a few curtains twitch with subdued curiosity, but no sign of anyone standing in their way.

"Soon", he thought. "Soon I'll be riding with them."

* * *

The TARDIS lurched sideways.

Things weren't going well for Romana and the Doctor. Unlike with his previous companions, the time she had spent with the Doctor had been based on the need to find the Key to Time. They'd been there and done that, and Romana had been ready to return to Gallifrey. Now she was thrown together as a fellow outcast, at least until they could find a way to end the Black Guardian's pursuit. Without a mission, and with the Doctor's occasionally smug and patronising air grating on her nerves, she was beginning to snap at his every word. Their last argument ended in silence, which continued right up until the TARDIS arrived in what could most politely be described as severe turbulence.

The two Time Lords now occupied opposite sides of the space-time ship's hexagonal command console, their eyes reflecting shared apprehension at their latest predicament.

Responding to the strained rise and fall of the time rotor, Romana buzzed over her control panel. "The outer plasmic shell has started boiling away," she said. "We appear to have materialised in the heart of a star."

"But that's impossible," the Doctor was well aware of what the ship's instrumentation was telling them, but the TARDIS was in the best shape she had been for centuries. Shipshape and… he turned to the stubby black unit he had wired up only hours earlier. "Unless…"

"The randomiser?"

The Doctor nodded. "Just a minor technical hitch."

Biting her tongue, Romana checked the scanner on her console. It was blank. Switching to her data screen, she listed the elemental composition of the field of superheated plasma in which the ship had materialised. "Hydrogen, helium, lithium…"

"It's a very old sun," said the Doctor. "No elemental pollution?"

Romana shook her head. "Worse than that, Doctor, it's an invisible sun. Five hundred solar masses with a radius of one astronomical unit. We'll need an escape velocity faster than the speed of light. And with the outer shell almost gone, I doubt we'll be escaping anywhere."

"A sun that swallows its own light?" The Doctor was clearly more curious than he was concerned. And entirely oblivious to Romana's mood. "That's two impossible things before breakfast."

"Make that three, Doctor. There's a planet in the centre."

"A planet?"

"Yes." To illustrate her point, she transferred the data from her control panel to the main view screen. In the absence of an external image, a mathematical simulation of the planet, complete with topographical extrapolations, appeared on the monitor. The surface was as hostile as the atmosphere the TARDIS currently occupied.

The TARDIS lurched again, more severely than before. The reassuringly unchanging hum of its interior changed its pitch.

"Can we land there?" A little urgency crept into the Doctor's voice.

"Perhaps there's somewhere safe underground?"

"Checking…it's hollow. The planet's surface is a dense shell composed of deuterium, galvinium, iridium, neutronium, taranium and… Doctor, make that four impossible things before breakfast."

"Why?"

"The interior is habitable."

Clapping his hands together, the Doctor's frown broadened into a brief grin. The first sign that he had shown any concern over their imminent vapourisation. "An inside-out world inside a phantom sun? What are we waiting for?"

Flexing his fingers, the Doctor reached out to adjust the navigational controls in an effort to find a healthy set of co-ordinates with which he could set the TARDIS down and give her a chance to recuperate.

_Ploot._ The ship almost vocalised its negative response.

"Ah," the Doctor was frowning again, "now that would be five impossible things if it didn't happen to me on a regular basis."

"Doctor?"

"I can't lock onto any co-ordinates. It could be interference from the star, or it could be that outer shell. Either way there's no way of knowing where... or when... we are."

"Well, for a star that massive to exist we must be..."

"At the dawn of history? Yes, that's what I was thinking."

"No point in sending out a distress call then," said Romana, "there won't be any Time Lords to pick it up. We're not supposed to travel this far back in time." Her irritation with the Doctor clearly hadn't gone away, and a third sideways lurch emphasised that fact. "In fact, if you hadn't replaced the isochronic regulator with a randomiser it wouldn't have been possible!"

"_If_ we've travelled back in time. I'm sure we'll find our answers on that planet."

" We have to get there first, and according to these indicators there's only about forty per cent of the TARDIS exterior left."

"Forty per cent? She made a trip with less than twenty per cent of her external mass when we first left Gallifrey, didn't you old girl?" The Doctor patted the console, as much to reassure himself as his companion. "We made it then, we can make it now."

"Twenty per cent?" Romana was clearly sceptical. "That must have taken a while to fix."

"Oh, about four hundred years."

"You've only had it for five hundred and twenty four."

"Yes, well... I just need to override the randomiser and…" a fourth lurch from the TARDIS caused something to slide into the Doctor's leg. Glancing down, he found inspiration. "K9, how are you at guesswork?"

"Master?"

"I need you to calculate a landing point based on the relative distance between the TARDIS and the interior surface."

"Affirmative. Working..." K9 dipped his head, his ears rotating as he processed the request. "Seven hundred and seventy six thousand, four hundred and eighty kilometres, three hundred and..."

"Yes, yes…" interrupted the Doctor, "but don't tell me. Tell the TARDIS."

Within moments, their salvation had been assured, as the TARDIS locked on to its new destination and dematerialised.

"There, that wasn't so bad." The Doctor patted K9 as the TARDIS settled back down into a steady hum.

"Bad?" Romana wasn't so impressed. Her dark mood hadn't settled, and the damage to the TARDIS had been extensive. "Doctor, you ignored every safety protocol in the book. I should be grateful you asked K9 to find a landing site, I half expected you to suck your finger and stick it in the air."

"I'm hurt," said the Doctor, who clearly wasn't.

"And that randomiser of yours is evidently a flawed prototype. It's more dangerous than the Black Guardian."

"Well it _was_ a test run. I'm sure with a few tweaks…"

That was it. "A few tweaks? Sometimes, Doctor, I wonder how you graduated from the Time Academy in the first place."

The Time Lord beamed ingratiatingly. "Perseverance."

"Well, I wouldn't have let you loose with a TARDIS," she retorted.

"Neither would the Time Lords," said the Doctor. "I had to earn her all on my own."

"As if. You probably won it in a competition run by _House and TARDIS_."

"Well, I've got one and you haven't, so yah-boo and sucks to you!" The Doctor cocked a snook at Romana in an attempt to reduce the tension building between them.

"Hmm." She got the hint. "There's probably a nice new Type 76 waiting for me when we get home."

"Home? Have you forgotten the Black Guardian? You're stuck with me and mine for the duration, remember?"

"How could I forget? I can hardly hitch-hike my way across the galaxy."

This time, the Doctor genuinely was hurt. "Am I that bad?"

"Insufferable. Especially when you nearly get us killed."

"But the randomiser…"

"A poor workman always blames his tools, Doctor. And your tools have left us stuck in a TARDIS with a ruptured outer shell in the middle of a star that won't let us out!"

"There's always a bright side. At least we have somewhere to explore."

Romana sighed. Right now she needed a little respite from the Doctor and his humours. "I'm not in the mood, Doctor. Sometimes I wish I'd chosen Mutter as the subject of my dissertation."

"Mutter, Mutter, mutter," muttered the Doctor. "When did he ever get to change the Laws of Time?"

That particular revelation stopped Romana dead. Even now she couldn't be sure if the Doctor was telling her the truth or embellishing his past. And she was supposed to be an expert where the Doctor's life was concerned. "That's not possible. I think Rassilon might have noticed."

The Doctor shrugged. "It was only a few words. Besides, Rassilon was a plagiarist. It only took four hours and three bottles of vodka to persuade Blinovitch to redraft his Second Law of Causal Determination."

Romana raised an eyebrow. It would be irony indeed if the Doctor were responsible for the very law of time which he had most difficulty obeying. She decided to end their banter rather than pursue the matter further.

"You have a TARDIS that needs fixing, Doctor, and I'm suddenly developing a strong urge to get back to Gallifrey."

"Here," the Doctor scowled as he reached into his coat pockets, "you'll be needing my sonic screwdriver then. You stay and check your t-mails while I get some air."

Opening the doors the Doctor swept around and stepped outside in a grand display of pique. A moment later the Doctor's knotted scarf flew back into the console room, lassoed K9, and drew the robot dog towards the door.

"Come on K9, I'm not staying here to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Time Ladies. Let's find our bearings."

As K9 trundled outside and the door closed, Romana's body slumped with relief as she activated the external monitors.

"Try finding your marbles while you're at it, Doctor." She said to no one in particular, satisfying herself that she had had the last word. "It's a hollow planet, so you won't see any stars."

"Ah." The Doctor's voice echoed over the internal speakers. "There are other ways to find your place in the universe, Romana," he said as he wandered into the mists beyond.


	2. Book One Chapter One

**Book One – Walking in your footsteps**

**One**

Powerful rays of invisible light cut through the thick mists surrounding the planet's highest peak, burning like a bright sun illuminating all within its reach. The Oculus, the inner sun that burned at the top of Mount Madronal, had done so since the old time, casting its light upon a world otherwise shrouded in complete darkness. During the dark cycle, the Oculus shed ultraviolet light, its beams picking out the most reflective surfaces, giving the humid mists below an eerie glow. Within the hour, the twilight cycle would come, and the light of the Oculus would shift into the visible spectrum. The fog below would thin and start to settle, and the fallen would start to go about their lives much as they had done on a world gifted with night and day. The transitional period during which this spectrum shift took place had, by habit, come to be referred to as morning.

Less than a thousand feet from the mountain's peak lived the Keepers of the Oculus. The crest upon which their monastery rested pierced the cloud cover some three miles from the base of the mountain, where scree joined with forest, where the forest turned to bog, and where the bog blended into the sea.

As he did with the onset of every twilight cycle, the Abbot of Madronal stood upon the highest of the monastery walls, catching glimpses of the land and sea that lay beyond the clouds. It was mostly sea, with the mountain rising upwards to form the world's largest land mass, barely thirty leagues across from tip to tail.

The abbot was a tall man, his face weathered, his hair bleached by centuries of morning walks. Without the protective cover of the humid mists beneath their mountain eyrie, the monks of Madronal could be differentiated from their ground-dwelling kindred by their deeply tanned skin, darkened by direct exposure to the ultraviolet radiated during the dark cycle. The abbot's skin was darker than most. Breathing deeply, he reflected upon the miracle that had kept the peace here for two million years; two races, once sworn enemies, forced to share their existence on a single island, eking out the most basic of lifestyles, prisoners of historical circumstance.

"Gesar."

The abbot started. Nothing ever happened to justify the interruption of his morning walk. He turned, finding an even rarer occurrence stood before him. Like Gesar, she wore the plain habit of an initiate, making all but her face and wild white hair indistinguishable from the hundred-or-so monks with whom she shared the mountain. Unlike Gesar, or indeed the other monks, she had not left her cloister room in a thousand years. Her trance was legendary. She had believed that by divorcing herself from her physical body, she would find a path back into the outer universe, and through that path redemption for the fallen.

"Teyamat?" Gesar had not heard her speak in a very long time. "This is an unexpected surprise. I can't remember when I last received a visit from the Old Mother of Madronal. What can I do for you?"

"Hasn't it always been what I can do for you?" Teyamat's cracked voice reflected her age.

"Your quest? Did it succeed? Did you find the path you sought?"

Teyamat smiled an enigmatic smile that made it clear she had no comment on that particular subject. "You have a visitor," she said, speaking slowly, and with more authority than Gesar had ever been able to muster. "A TARDIS has arrived."

"A TARDIS? That's ridiculous," the abbot stammered, confused by the old crone's news. "Time Lord intervention is impossible here. We're far beyond their reach. Did you summon it?"

Teyamat shook her head, smiling toothlessly. "Its prudent to keep the key if you want to lock a door."

"And even more prudent to throw away the key if you never want it open again." Years of quiet meditation could not keep the faint trace of resentment from his voice. "They took us out of time and space. Left us here to rot."

"You are assuming that it is a Time Lord," she cackled, shaking her head, "and not Our Lady returned to bring salvation."

"After two million years?" Now it was Gesar's turn to laugh, considering what effect a millennium of deep meditation might have had upon the old woman's brain. "No, Old Mother, she is long gone. If there is a TARDIS here then it brings a Time Lord, and perhaps more death and destruction."

"Perhaps."

Turning inwards, Gesar cast his eyes down upon the great garden, which filled the upper courtyard, picking out the various brothers tending their herbs and vegetables. With the light of the Oculus and the source of the island's principal river so close, the Monks of Madronal had long since become the world's main providers. Within a few moments the abbot picked out the form of his closest aide.

"G'thon," he called, not waiting for an acknowledgement, "call the brotherhood together."

The monk's pink head bobbed up as he set aside his tools and silently set off towards the monastery's great bell-tower, the Grand Carillon. Once there he would ascend the thousand steps and ring out the summons.

"So," asked Teyamat, "you have a plan?"

Gesar nodded. "If there is a TARDIS on K'thellid, then it is safer to confront it here than in the city streets, no?"

The old crone nodded. "And if Pengallia is returned, then it is better for her to be greeted by a respectful Abbot than a council of corrupt elders."

"Well, we can but try."

"Well, it's an interesting atmosphere, don't you think, K9?" The Doctor paced blindly through the faintly luminous mist, sidestepping shadowy trees as he drew K9 behind him, his long multi-coloured scarf doubling as a leash. The brightest light source – K9's glowing sensors – added a hint of red to the fog.

"It is within acceptable parameters, Master. 72.3 percent nitrogen, 22.7 percent oxygen, 2.6 percent argon, 2.2 percent carbon dioxide and 0.2 percent methane. Geothermal radiation and a static atmosphere give an average temperature of 25.3 degrees Celsius."

"I meant the humidity and the mist, not the composition," the Time Lord corrected, "a bit of a pea souper."

"Pea souper? Nineteenth century colloquialism used to draw comparisons between the consistency of a local vegetable dish and that of environmental pollutants caused by early industrial activity…"

"Yes, yes. I used the expression, so I hardly need to have it explained to me." The Doctor paused to rub his palm against the jointed wood of the nearest tree. It resembled grey bamboo, and there appeared to be no signs of any foliage at ground level. "At least these trees are evidence of plant life," he strained his ears, but the silence of the forest was quite eerie, "any fauna?"

"Affirmative. Besides local wildlife there is evidence of a settlement approximately four kilometers ahead..."

"Well done, K9," the Doctor grinned, stepping up his pace and tugging gently on his scarf, "best foot forward then…" The little robot dog matched the Doctor's pace. He had been fitted with a higher gear ratio and softer suspension than the previous model, and the terrain thus far had presented him with few obstacles. And when they had arisen, a quick jerk from the Doctor's scarf had been up to the task of removing them.

As they moved deeper into the forest, the faint reverberation of Mount Madronal's carillon bells was carried to them on the still, sticky air.

"Shush!" The Doctor said to no one in particular. "What was that?"

"The peal of bells, Master, arranged in a chromatic series…."

"It was a rhetorical question, K9," he said, identifying the notes as they rang, "G, C, D, D sharp. Cathedral bells by the sound of it. A couple of miles away, at least. We should head towards them."

"Confirmed."

They set off again, at a more cautious pace. The Doctor gently rubbed at his temples and pinched at his sinuses. "It's odd K9. Those bells are a fair distance away and yet they seem to be making me giddy."

K9 paused, rotating his ears and processing the data. "I am detecting a low level psychotronic signal, Master."

"Ah. Telepathic bells. That's a novelty."

"Negative, Master. The signal is being emitted by an artificial construct some three hundred and twenty two point six metres ahead."

"Really?" The Doctor peered into the murk, which gave no clue as to which way was ahead. "Well spotted, K9. Let's take a look, shall we?" With a sweeping bow, he gestured for his dog to take the lead.

K9 hesitated. "Master, you are likely to experience further discomfort. The signal is operating at a frequency of one point six microbars precisely..."

"Ah."

"According to the TARDIS databank, one point six microbars is the same wavelength as that …"

"…at which Gallifreyan telepathy operates. Yes, yes, I understand. Lead on."

K9 moved forwards, raising his suspension slightly to accommodate the more uneven ground, and extending his nose-mounted laser as a precautionary measure. As the Doctor followed, the mist soon gave way to a tall, stone obelisk. Perfectly rectangular, it rose straight upwards to a height of about twelve feet, with faint grooves traced into its surface.

"What have we here?" The Doctor knelt beside the object for a closer inspection. He noted that the base appeared to grow directly out of the bedrock, and that none of the surrounding tree roots made direct contact with its surface. He sensed some very slight vibration, but there was no accompanying hum. All he could hear was the subtle whirr of K9's processors.

"It is a lithium construct interlaced with an artificial compound," K9 noted.

"I am unable to identify the markings."

"They're _vevers_, explained the Doctor, "ancient glyphs designed to store whatever data a prospective Time Lord is likely to need on his journey. It's the Gallifreyan equivalent of a milestone."

"Query?"

"Look under _tychomnemonic array_," explained the Doctor, sign-posting the relevant entry in K9's databanks. "Every star system we ever visited had one of these hidden somewhere. There's one buried somewhere on Earth's moon. It's a navigational aid from an age of terrible mind powers. They were abandoned when our telepathy waned."

"Tychomnemonic array." K9 repeated the word, retrieving the data. "A fixed psycholinguistic positioning and transmission system…"

"Yes, yes," the Doctor interrupted. "That's what I said. And from my throbbing head, whatever information it contained has probably just been uploaded into my time brain."

"Has it informed you of our location, Master?"

"No. Nothing," said the Time Lord, backing away from the stone, "and I'd be grateful if you disabled it before I do. A level eight blast should do the trick."

K9 complied, directing a sustained laser blast at the stone, which absorbed and distributed the ruby light across its surface, tracing the outline of the vevers. As soon as he ceased fire, the glowing red lines faded, and the Doctor looked physically relieved, clearly grateful that the psychic pressure on his mind had lifted. He patted K9, who retracted his laser and lifted his head.

"Master, I am now detecting alpha-wave patterns and other signs which indicate sentient life."

"From the stone?"

"Negative, Master… sensors indicate that the source lies seventy three point two metres to the left."

"What sort of other signs?" The Doctor followed the dog's direction, squinting into the fog, where he could make out more fog, and perhaps even some heavier fog behind that.

"Voices, Master."

As if on cue, the still air was pierced by a high pitched shriek.

"Now that _was_ a voice and a half." As an expert in the screams made by many of his past companions, the Doctor could tell it wasn't of human origin. "I wonder what sort of creature screams like that. Come on K9…"

Rushing towards what had quickly become an inconsistent noise, somewhere between a gurgle and a whimper, the Doctor and K9 soon came upon a clearing where the mist began to thin. Visibility had been steadily improving with the shift between the planet's dark and twilight cycles, but they were still too far away to connect actions to the dull thuds and splintering cracks which now began to replace the sound of alien suffering.

Reaching into the folds of his greatcoat, the Doctor withdrew a small pen-torch of the variety found in mid-twenty-first century Earth's Christmas crackers. Cutting through the mist, its pencil beam fell first upon the grey flanks of a tethered steed, then across to the lilac shoulders of a tall man, one of the many crowded around the victim. The creature was obscured by the movement of a dozen cloaks and the flurry of heavy boots crashing and splintering against its torso. Flickers of light reflected from the creature, while a separate, wider beam of light projected by K9, locked onto its slumped body, which, with all the motion, the Doctor couldn't quite make out. It had a metallic sheen, and its legs, those that remained, were spindly. The splintering had been the sound of creature's outer shell splitting open to expose the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath.

"Hey, you!" The Doctor shouted, eliciting a pause from the murderous crew. To a man, they turned and stared at the interloper and his dog.

"What?" They were human, roughly six feet tall and dressed from head to toe in lilac-blue robes, their faces hidden by cowls. The tone of their leader's response was enough to tell the Doctor that their blood was up. There would be no chance of negotiation with these people.

The men were armed with clubs and knives, yet each wore utility belts and low-light goggles, which indicated a higher level of technological development. As they turned to face the Doctor, their victim's features became more apparent. It appeared to be a giant crab of some kind, its battered carapace cracked and weeping from countless impacts. It was spotted with silver veins, which the Doctor, given the heavy elements present on the planet, concluded must be metals. Counting the spindles and stumps that had once been the creature's peraeopods, the Doctor found ten. He could not make out the creature's head or eyes. Where he had expected them to be there was instead a concave indentation filled with a mass of severed organic fibres.

"What are you doing? Unhand that… crab… er, thing," continued the Doctor, uncertain of what he was describing. "Leave it alone."

As the Doctor cast his eyes around in search of whatever had been torn from the creature, K9's light-beam settled upon what looked like a broken fishbowl. Partly filling the bowl, and partly stretched out across the ground, the Doctor could make out a pink blob of some kind. It was organic, and, like the wounded crab, fibrous tendrils stretched outwards, each leaking thin white ichor onto the ground. It looked like it had been a cephalopod. A pink octopus. No, he corrected himself. Make that a decapus.

Their attention focused on the Doctor, the men started to move forwards.

"K9?" Sensing his master's apprehension, the dog switched his light beam from the victim to the attackers, his stunner already extended and waiting for his Master's voice.

"Who are you?" asked the largest of the men. Their leader.

"I'm a Doctor," he replied. "The Doctor, in fact. Let the poor creature be."

As the men surged forward again, K9 moved himself into the space between them and the Doctor. Switching to wide-beam, he unleashed a blast of energy. The foremost of the men took the brunt of the blast, falling beside K9 as the club of the man behind swung squarely into the robot's side. The impact caused the robot dog to tilt, tipping him over and exposing his underside. K9 had been rendered defenceless.

"K9!" The Doctor ran towards the little robot. "No."

"Get him!" The men surged forward again, and within moments, it was the Doctor who found himself buried under the onslaught of an angry mob.

* * *

The Lady Romana emerged from the TARDIS wardrobe in a fetching black velvet coat complemented by a frilly white shirt, an intricately stitched waistcoat, also black, and a pair of tight silk jodhpurs. Black again. These she complemented with a pair of black leather thigh boots. On her head she wore a black velvet fedora with a red hatband similar to the purple and green one she had first worn on Tara. Her first priority, she had decided, was to cheer herself up with a change of costume. She had been quite taken with the 'gothic style' she had taken from the cover of a children's book she had found in the TARDIS library. It suited her black mood.

Striding purposefully across the control room, she withdrew the sonic screwdriver and set about removing the cover plate to the navigational panel. Setting it aside, she examined the exposed wiring around the randomiser, evaluating the Doctor's handiwork. The way he had bypassed several critical systems to allow the TARDIS to arrive before it even knew it was departing had been an impressive feat, but one which left the time ship vulnerable to a whole host of life-threatening situations. The mean free path tracker had been disabled, the coordinate programmer scrambled, the destination monitor uncoupled and worst of all, the isochronic regulator had been removed, severing the link between their personal time streams and that of Gallifrey. They were, effectively, lost in time and flying blind.

"Well, Doctor, thank you very much," she sighed. "This TARDIS might as well be consigned to a junk yard."

Downing tools, Romana's growing impatience drew her attention to the space-time telegraph.

"T-mail…," she said, scanning the controls, "t-mail…"

Her attention was drawn to a metal plate screwed onto the control panel. Removing the plate, she exposed a disused data screen. "Here we are."

Flicking on the monitor, she opened up the t-mail. The first of the Doctor's messages she came across was more than five hundred years old. She scrolled ahead, wading through page after page of unanswered messages.

"Hundreds! No wonder the Time Lords get angry with you."

Romana reversed the search parameters, calling up the most recent messages first. Very quickly, she found her name, and discovered that she had already received dozens of messages during her time with the Doctor.

"Let's see… junk…" she deleted the first message.

"Junk, junk, junk." Most of the messages appeared to be news feed, either about President Borusa's reforms, Panopticon debates, or edicts from Cardinal Varnel, who seemed to be building a case to shift her House's political allegiance from one Chapter faction to another. Then there were a number of enquiries from various Citadel fraternities offering assignments and apprenticeships based, no doubt, upon her exemplary academic record. Then there were a couple of personal messages. The latest family gossip from cousins Merculite and Mornitude and a few memos from her old mentor, PendectarianVenestri. Romana set aside a couple of messages from her favourite Cousin. Finally, she found something from the Academy.

"A summons!" She noted the urgent flag, and opened the message, unable to contain her excitement, eager to see if she had been allocated a TARDIS of her own. Full graduation as a Time Lord was an arbitrary affair, with only one-in-ten Academy graduates ever being promoted to full Time Lord status.

As she hoped, the mission to recover the Key to Time had, the message revealed, moved her to the front of the queue, ready to fill dead men's shoes when the next Time Lord of her Chapter died or retired.

"Damn." The next message announced the retirement of Moderator Jonas, notifying Romana that a seat in the Panopticon was available. Thanks to the missing isochronic regulator, however, she was in receipt of a third message notifying her that she had missed the deadline. Vacancy filled. Romana was back at the end of the queue.

"Doctor!" She cursed, hammering the console with her fist. "Now I'll never get my collar!"

As she cursed, Romana noticed a flicker in the lighting. The roundels in the TARDIS walls dimmed slightly, and a couple of sparks drew her attention back to the exposed navigational controls.

"What?" As she watched, switches moved, settings shifted and the time rotor jerked into motion. As it began to rise and fall, the dematerialization indicator flickered into life. Moving over to the controls, Romana checked the randomiser. It was still in place. Obviously, the Black Guardian had found another way to find them and capture the TARDIS, despite the Doctor's best efforts.

With its innards exposed, Romana reached forwards in an attempt to manually disconnect the dematerialization circuit, but before she could reach it, an arc of electromagnetic feedback threw her backwards.

Dazed, Romana lay on the TARDIS floor. The dematerialization process was out of her control; there was nothing she could do to stop it.


	3. Book One Chapter Two

**Two**

Battered and bruised, the Doctor considered himself lucky to still be conscious. Dragging himself to his feet, he found himself surrounded by his assailants. Their attack had been half-hearted compared to their assault on the poor creature, which lay inert behind them, and the Doctor concluded that they had a special, irrational hatred of whatever kind of creature it had been.

The men moved aside as the Doctor limped over towards K9, who remained on his side, his nose pressed into the ground, his stunner temporarily disabled. Mentally he catalogued the need to fit his mechanical familiar with some sort of self-righting mechanism.

"K9, are you alright?"

"Ma…s…ter…" The dog's muffled response was enough to set the Doctor's mind at ease, until he realized that two of their attackers lay unconscious on the ground, and that their condition left K9 as the main threat.

"Shut that thing up." As if reading the Doctor's mind, the leader gestured for one of his men to deal with the dog. The man concerned brushed past the Doctor, clipping him with an elbow for effect, as bullies are wont to do.

Lining up his club, the man took a great swing, and smacked it into the side of K9's head. Sparks flew, and the Doctor winced. He felt the bolts loosen. A second blow followed, and the Doctor looked away as his pet's head flew from its torso, landing a few feet away amid sparking circuits and the smell of ozone.

As he turned his head away, the Doctor noticed the broken fishbowl and the alien cephalopod within. It was still moving. Limping past his attackers, the Doctor made his way towards the creature, crouching down beside it before the leader of the hooded men called him off.

"You, get away from that squid."

The Doctor turned, looking his enemy is the eye. "Squid? It looks a little more than that."

"Leave the filthy _menk_ alone." One of the others threatened.

"It's dying," said the Doctor. He looked down upon the creature. It had no eyes, but the milky ichor streaking from its remains made it look like it was weeping.

"And in a few more seconds it'll be dead," said the leader. "Grab him."

Several of the men reached for the Doctor, pulling him to the ground. As they pinned him, they turned to their 'Commander', asking what they should do next.

"The Honour Guard has only one enemy," their leader said. "Tie him up and let's get back to the city. We'll work out what to do with him later."

Within moments, ropes were produced, and the Doctor found himself trussed up. The last thing he saw before a sack was thrown over his head was the dying cephalopod. One of the so-called 'Honour Guard' was using his club to administer the coup de grâce. Multiple coups de grâce, if such a term existed.

The Doctor felt himself being lifted from the ground and thrown over one of the steeds that he had spotted earlier. As he was being tied securely he heard the Commander's last instruction.

"Right, lads, mount up. Let's get out of here."

* * *

The dawn of the twilight cycle was heralded by the appearance of a flickering crack of light which gently swelled into the full, glorious bloom of the world's artificial sun. Brighter, but colder, the Oculus cast its blue heat upon across the world known as K'thellid. As the cycle progressed, its fiery hue would shift along the spectrum, from blue to yellow, to red. However, the Oculus burned not just for the outside world, but also for the deepest recesses of Mount Madronal. As its blue light broke across the planet, a single ray passed downward, herded by a narrow stone shaft, which had once served a different purpose. Two miles down, at the heart of the vast, cavernous chamber that rested at the foot of the shaft, a great concave mirror captured and dispersed the light.

On this particular morning light break was observed by a full chamber. The assembled monks wore hooded robes, their faces shielded from the fierce blue light by ceremonial masks which protected them from its full intensity. As it had for two million years, the undiluted light washed over the chamber's walls. Bleached and heavily eroded, the chamber was riddled with tiny vents, which carried the light away through a network of filters and reflectors, instantaneously bringing illumination to every open space under the mountain.

Each monk stood motionless, forming part of a great circle which surrounded both the great mirror and the altar which rested at its head. Side by side, Teyamat and Brother G'thon stood before the altar, leading the resonant chant which echoed throughout the chamber, and through the labyrinthine corridors which lay beyond.

The dialect was an ancient one, and the words were formulaic, recounting a complex mathematical sequence, which focused their collective mind upon a single goal.

As the chanting grew louder, and faster, and higher in pitch, the grinding echo of the TARDIS' engines reverberated through the chamber, creating a Doppler effect as it came closer and closer towards materialisation. Photons twinkled as the time ship solidified, halting their journey as the shape of a battered blue Police Box appeared on the opposite side of the mirror to the altar.

* * *

Romana watched the view screen helplessly. She had heard fairy tales of time-bending cults who could summon objects across time by will alone, but she hadn't expected to see it for herself. The chanting outside slowed and two robed cultists, no doubt the high priests or priestesses, stepped forwards. Their chant continued as a duet, and the shorter of the two reached a hand out towards the TARDIS.

In response to the gesture, the door lever began to slide downwards. Grasping it with both hands, Romana attempted to force it up, keeping it closed. She was unable to muster enough physical force, and slowly the lever descended. She felt it click into place, and the gentle hum of the opening outer door followed, allowing what she had identified as mad cultists to file into the TARDIS. She took cover behind the console, peering through the now still time rotor, desperately looking for some non-existent defence system built into the control panel. Perhaps a force-ram, or maybe a wind machine.

"Who are you people?" she asked as more than a dozen robed, masked initiates filled the room. Their masks were smooth and reflective, their lack of features providing her with no useful information whatsoever.

"Get away!" she warned, as they silently moved toward her. Reaching into the folds of her jacket, she felt the reassuring weight of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver, withdrawing it and pointing it in their direction.

The two leaders she had identified earlier faced her across the console. The taller of the two seemed to be admiring the controls, while the shorter one reached out for the platen which would provide a direct link to the telepathic circuits.

"Don't touch that – I'm warning you," she aimed the screwdriver. "I have a sonic lance and I'm not afraid to use it!"

The shorter cultist hesitated, hand hovering over the platen. "We've no intention of harming you, Time Lord." She said, revealing herself to be both female and very, very old.

"I'm pleased to hear it," she replied. "It would have been nice to let me know that before you dragged me here against my will."

One of the other cultists broke rank, pointing an accusatory finger at Romana. "Just as your ancestors imprisoned us here against our will, Time Lord?"

_Enough, Xerinar!_ said the taller of the two leaders. His voice contrasted in every way to that of the woman's. It seemed strange. Disjointed. Alien. _I am Brother G'thon_, he said, _an acolyte of Madronal._

Romana stood, cautiously lowering the sonic screwdriver. Moving around the console, she used the introduction to place herself between the telepathic interface and the old woman. As she came face to face with the featureless mirror-mask, she sensed the woman flinch, taking a step backward.

"Romanadvoratrelundar," she said, reasserting her will as haughtily as she could. "And it's Time Lady, actually."

The taller cultist – G'thon – didn't seem as awed by the announcement

_Unusual for a woman to ascend to such a noble calling._

"Not really," she dismissed his suggestion. "What do you know of the Time Lords? And who are you?"

_If you will accompany us, the Abbot wishes to speak with you._ G'thon stood aside, indicating that Romana was free to leave the room unrestrained. So they were monks, not cultists. That eased her apprehension a little. _And please, put the weapon away._

"Weapon?" Romana looked at the sonic screwdriver. "Oh, yes." She pocketed it, and followed her escort out into the blazing light of the chamber beyond.

"Impressive," she muttered, shielding her eyes as the Monks of Madronal took her to their leader.

* * *

The mists were closer to the ground, but there were still a few inches of clearance. The darkness beyond had given way to a low-level light, tinged with blue. The canopies of the tall grey-bamboo stalks that passed for trees were visible, their great reach obscuring the light some eight or nine hundred feet overhead.

By retracting and extending his nose-mounted weapons a few times, K9 had managed to re-orient his head. Even for a robot, it was disconcerting for him to see his body lying on its side a metre and a half away.

"Mas…t…er..?" The inquiry confirmed that K9 was alone, and that the Doctor had most likely been captured. A brief self-diagnostic informed him that his head remained connected to his torso only by a single cable, and that his power reserves were almost fully charged. He considered his predicament a moment further, then used what little movement he had to adjust the position of his head once more.

Then he fired a stun blast at his torso, at maximum intensity.

As he had anticipated, K9 caught himself a glancing blow, which projected enough sonic force to tip his body over once more. With a thump, it landed on its base. He stored an observation, to suggest that the Doctor add a self-righting modification at his earliest convenience. He then scanned for life signs, picking up an alpha-wave concentration, which included a pattern he recognised as that of the Doctor, less than a thousand metres away. His body turned, heading off towards his master, limply dragging his head behind.

* * *

The solid clatter of hooves had given way to softer, boggier ground, and the pace had slowed. The journey so far had been quick, with little dialogue among the Honour Guard, who seemed keen to return to 'the city' and resume their normal lives. The Doctor had chosen not to struggle, saving his strength and his energy for whatever awaited him.

As the Honour Guard got closer to home, their silence lifted, and they began to chat among themselves. The Doctor felt another change in pace, and the soft ground was replaced with a hard path, which itself gave way to the stone cobbles of a town of some kind. There still didn't seem to be any sound of human activity, so it was either very early, or else a backwater which didn't get much trade.

"Quiet, now, lads," said the Commander, confirming the first of the Doctor's assumptions about the town, "we don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

"What about him?" One of the Guard was referring to the Doctor.

"Get yourselves out of those robes and bring him to mine. We can sort him out later. Besides, I've got some ale in."

"I'm with you, sir," said another. "It's been a long cycle."

"Yes, but a good night's work. Well done, lads."

The Guard dismounted, quietly leading their steeds through what the Doctor took to be side streets. After a short while, they came to a halt, and moments later the Doctor felt hands grabbing him and easing him down. He considered saying something, but the treatment of the alien creature in the forest stayed his tongue. He couldn't be sure he would earn less than another beating.

"Easy does it, boys," said the Commander gruffly, as they carried their prisoner through a doorway and into a warm building. "We can't afford any suspicious behaviour. You wouldn't want the police sniffing around, asking questions, now. Would you?"

The Guard erupted into laughter. There was an irony in their reaction which aroused the Doctor's suspicions. They were criminals, for sure, but with a very frivolous attitude towards the law.

Bundled through another doorway, the Doctor found himself, still bound and covered, being lowered onto a hard mat in a cold room. His captors then withdrew, slamming and securing a heavy wooden door behind them.

* * *

The corridors reminded Romana of her first adventure with the Doctor, passing through crypts under the city of Shur on Ribos. The atmosphere was still, the air musty, and the great age of the place apparent with every footfall. Her escort consisted of the old woman, Teyamat, taking the lead, and Brother G'thon, the tall one, bringing up the rear. She was reassured that they had not felt the need to bring more monks along to ensure her compliance, but more than a little irritated by the great distance they had covered since leaving the chamber. The corridor appeared to move upwards in a gentle spiral, and she hadn't yet encountered a set of stairs. She had commented on this after the first thousand paces, and G'thon had explained that stairs only served those that were in a hurry.

Eventually, Teyamat led them into a small antechamber, where she at last removed her mirror-mask and set it aside. Her wild hair and wizened face revealed her to be immeasurably old. She grinned at Romana, and stepped through an archway into the room beyond, leaving Romana alone with Brother G'thon.

Like Teyamat, G'thon removed his mask, and Romana was lost for words. Despite his tall humanoid body, G'thon's features were far from human. The face of a pink kraken stared back at her. Actually, Romana noted, he wasn't staring. He had no eyes. His cranium was a livid pink, while his mouth, a small metallic beak, was surrounded by a knot of suckered tentacles which had fallen free when the mask came off.

_You thought I was human._ It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"Yes," Romana nodded. "I'm sorry."

_Don't be._ G'thon's tentacles writhed as he spoke. _Our two races co-exist, and have done so ever since the monastery was established._

"I see," said Romana, who also saw that despite the movement of his tentacles, G'thon's mouth didn't move as he spoke. He was, she realised, a blind telepath.

Teyamat coughed from the archway. "The abbot will see you now, Romana."

"What? Oh, thanks." She shuffled past the old crone, and stepped into a small room, bare but for a small desk and chair set beneath a circle of light. It was reflected downwards by a polished mirror, redirecting the output from one of the many vents leading from the chamber deep below them.

"Welcome to Mount Madronal." The abbot rose to greet her. "Romana, isn't it? I am the abbot, Gesar." He was tall and human. A little shorter than G'thon, and quite a bit younger than Teyamat. His face wore their responsibilities well. "The old mother tells me you were a little intimidated by our little… diversion."

"Well," Romana preened herself as she spoke, brushing away some dust from her sleeve. "I'm sure you could have asked before you whisked me into your little fortress."

The abbot smiled, apologetically. "It's hardly a fortress. We are a peaceful order."

Sitting down again, the abbot paused, using his new vantage point to scrutinise his guest. "I apologise for our reaction. You see, we don't get many TARDISes hereabouts."

Romana smiled sweetly. "Yet you seem to know our technology intimately, abbot."

Gesar nodded, casually. "We understand the principles. I must say, I hadn't expected our diversion to work. I'm told you didn't offer much resistance."

Romana didn't quite follow. She wondered if this was really a genuinely open conversation, or whether there was something deeper going on.

"I can only assume you haven't bonded with your TARDIS yet."

"It's not mine," Romana said. Rather too quickly, she told herself. She wondered if G'thon was just a broadcast telepath, or whether she was being subjected to some complex form of interrogation. Either way, her mental barriers were up, and she was ready.

"Really? So you didn't come alone?"

"Of course I did," she said, protecting the Doctor, who was no doubt still enjoying his stroll through the forest. "I'm just a relatively new graduate."

Romana kicked herself. The Doctor had always explained that the secret of a good interrogation was that the victim should get more information than the captor.

"I see. And what brings you to K'thellid?"

"K'thellid?" It was the first time Romana had heard the name of the planet, and she inwardly congratulated herself on chalking up her first piece of information. Not that it was very useful to her. She'd never heard of it. "Is that where I am?"

Gesar eyed her curiously. "You mean you didn't know where you were?"

"Well," she shrugged, "this planet wasn't exactly my intended destination."

"Somehow, I find that rather difficult to believe."

"You're entitled to think that, but I can assure you…"

Romana's defence was interrupted by Teyamat, who shuffled forwards to speak quietly into the abbot's ear. She couldn't quite make out what the old crone was saying, but from Gesar's expression, it was something pretty important. She backed away. Nodding to his adviser, the abbot's questions continued.

"Your full name is Romanadvoratrelundar?"

"Yes."

"Of the House Dvora?"

Romana was confused. First they demonstrated knowledge of Time Lord technology, and now of ancient family politics.

"House Dvora was closed down when I was a child," she clarified. "I was its last cousin. Hence my name."

"Would you step closer, into the light."

"What?"

"I just want to see your face."

"My face? I see." Romana stepped forward into the circle of light. As she did so, she removed her velvet fedora and shook her hair loose. She stared directly into the abbot's eyes. "Well?"

There was an audible gasp as the abbot leaned forwards. He was clearly struck dumb by what he saw, and after a moment Romana realised it was shock.

"Ahem." She coughed, restoring his focus. "I've been told I have quite striking features, but they've never elicited this kind of response."

"Forgive me," the abbot stuttered.

"So are you going to tell me who you are, and what you know of the Time Lords?"

Gesar nodded. His curiosity seemed to have given way to deference. Perhaps, at last, he believed her. Then he spoke again.

"You really haven't got a clue, have you?"


	4. Book One Chapter Three

**Three **

The Doctor considered his position, which was cold, dark, and almost as uncomfortable as it had been when he was strapped to the hindquarters of the beast of burden used to bring him to his cell. And it was a cell. Of that the Doctor had no doubt.

Still tightly bound, he sniffed. The sack may well have seen recent use carrying potatoes or some non-terrestrial equivalent, but the room beyond bore the indelible trace of disorderly drunks and daily swab-outs. "The one thing," he muttered to himself, "that doesn't change the universe over, is _l'eau de Bastille_."

Testing his bonds, the Doctor concluded that they had been professionally tied, but with a measure of complacency. The trick, he realised, would not be escaping, but doing so without knowing if he had an audience. Still, he consoled himself, if Harry Houdini could manage with an audience, he should be able to manage in front of a probable monitor system.

He willed the molecules of his bonds to shift sideways in time and space by about two minutes and six centimetres. When that failed, he relied on what he had described to Houdini as the "ancient art of Gallifreyan bone relaxation". He had therefore been even more amazed when the escapologist confessed to using the same technique himself.

Carefully sliding himself out of the sack, the Doctor blinked several times to adjust to the light, which crept in through high barred windows close to the ceiling. But for these and the mat he found himself lying upon, the room was grey and bare. No surveillance, no toilet or sink. Nothing.

The door was wood, but not like any he had seen before. It was smooth, grainless, and like everything else he had seen on this planet, peppered with metallic flecks. It was a secure and solid door, with no hatch or window for observation, and no accessible mechanism on the prisoner's side.

Placing his ear against the door, the Doctor thanked his lucky stars for the sheer ineptitude of his captors. Fancy bundling him up and not even checking his pockets. Grinning broadly, he reached into the folds of his coat to recover his sonic screwdriver, with which he would cause the lock on the other side of the door to vibrate open. Easy as…

The Doctor's hand came out empty.

He patted his pockets down several times before smacking his forehead. He had left the screwdriver with Romana. The Doctor then cursed his lucky stars for his own sheer ineptitude.

He checked his pockets again. There was always something useful beyond their lining. He withdrew a handful of small items. Besides the ubiquitous yo-yo and a relatively fresh Granny Smith, the Doctor found: one tooth, wrapped in tissue paper; his novelty pen-light-cum-laser pointer; one silver toothpick; two-and-a-half spent matches, of the everlasting variety; one battered pair of cardboard 3D specs, courtesy of the Odeon Leicester Square; one nearly empty tube of artist's gouache; one small battery-powered electric latte whisk; and one slightly used cellophane wrapper. Cheese and onion by the smell. Grinning again, the Doctor thanked his lucky stars for always having the right tools to hand, and set to work.

* * *

The Honour Guard settled down to share a hearty, but early breakfast. It would take the Oculus a good two hours to shift out of the blue spectrum into something useful. There might be a few early birds up and working through their household chores, but most of the citizens would be thinking of getting out of bed in about an hour.

Besides inflicting senseless damage upon alien life forms, there were other benefits to membership with the Honour Guard. The hours were short, if a little unsociable, and everyone was guaranteed the best meal of the cycle, because in lieu of pay, Commander Aldus was considered by many to be a gourmand, and he insisted that he treated his men to a full, traditional Demosian breakfast. Or at least as traditional as he could muster when living in a different universe to their home world.

Outwardly he may have been a giant of a man who rose to a position of authority by virtue of his size and talents with a club, but to those who knew him he was never happier than when he was in the kitchen preparing a good meal.

"Did you see the way that menk screamed?" said Creen, a local grocer, dipping some grilled corn farl into a bowl of double-yolked hurleen eggs. Their sticky juice dripped down his chin as he scoffed them down. "Gods of Profanity, it felt so good."

Another of the Guard, a surly, shaven-headed farmer agreed, nodding between mouthfuls of sea fruit goulash. "I still think we should be taking the fight to them," he added, topping up a tankard with some of the Commander's best morning ale. "They stink out the bay."

"Our time will come, Verus," said the Commander. Done with serving up the food for everyone else, he took his place at the head of the table, and settled down to tuck into a meal of his own. "The Elders are coming round to our way of thinking. Let the political process take its place."

"That's easy for you to say, Aldus. You don't live downwind of them."

The smell, he agreed, was bad. But there was only another season before the Council was due for re-election, and he genuinely felt that, within the city at least, there would be even more like-minded politicians. The culls meted out by the Guard a decade ago had been all but forgotten.

"Come on, lads," said Aldus. "Our cause may be just, but the last time the Guard got overzealous it nearly destroyed all the support we ever had. It set us back years. People don't take kindly to violence, even if they agree in principle. It's taken ages for to us to rebuild since then."

"Aye," Verus conceded, swallowing a beanswax toastie, before reaching for more ale, "and we wouldn't have managed that if it wasn't for you, Commander."

Aldus held up his hands in mock modesty. Verus, meanwhile, held up his tankard, re-filled with local brew.

"A toast to the Lord Commander, Sheriff Aldus," proposed Verus.

"To Sheriff Aldus," echoed the Honour Guard. Any excuse for another drink.

* * *

The Doctor gently closed the cell door behind him, slipping the cardboard of the 3D specs into the gap so the mechanism was unable to lock.

"Well that wasn't too bad, was it?" He whispered to Toulouse, the mutilated Granny Smith he was now using to double as his new companion. Toulouse's gouache mouth smiled back wordlessly from its pale green face, bobbing up and down in agreement in time with the Doctor's hand, which firmly gripped the toothpick which had been inserted into his neck. All in all, he was turning out to be a much better companion than Salvador, a dalek with whom the Doctor had once been forced to share a cell. Salvador did nothing but complain about the moustache the Doctor had painted beneath his eye-stalk. Toulouse agreed vigorously.

"Shhh!" whispered the Time Lord, holding his finger to his lips. "I hear voices."

They tiptoed along the empty cell-block to a second secure door.

"Excuse me," said the Doctor, retrieving the toothpick and switching on the lait-o-matic. Seconds later, the door was open and Toulouse had a body again.

The voices were louder now, and mixed with laughter. The source was just a few feet ahead, beyond a door that stood slightly ajar. Toulouse went first, sidling up to the opening, getting as close as possible without being detected.

"How many?" Toulouse snatched a glance and reported back to the Doctor, who didn't entirely believe him. Getting as close as they could, the snatches of conversation became more audible, and they settled in to eavesdrop on their hosts, who were drinking copiously, and were in danger of becoming a mutual appreciation society.

The Doctor and Toulouse weren't alone in making this observation, as the Commander, whom they had curiously just identified as the local Sheriff, called for a little attention.

"That's enough lads," he said. "We still have a little business to attend to. The Elders may be starting to see things our way, but the monks are getting suspicious."

There was a murmur of disquiet among the men. The Commander's morning ale was so called because of its low alcohol and high mineral content. The more they drank the more lucid they became. And the more serious.

"Last cycle," Aldus continued, "I received a letter from the abbot." The background whispers of parallel conversations ended as the men quietened down. Aldus had their full attention. "Do you want me to read it for you?"

Outside the room, Toulouse and the Doctor shared conspiratorial glances. Inside the room, the men of the Honour Guard nodded.

Reaching into his jerkin, the Sheriff withdrew a slender monocle, which he fixed into his good eye. He paused briefly, conscious that the combination of monocle and eye-patch might seem comical. Fortunately, the men knew better than to show it.

" '_Sheriff,'_ " he began. " _'It has been twelve cycles now since I last received a visit from the K'thellid, and I am concerned that the Honour Guard is again at large.'_ "

"So we've got them all so far?" It was Creen, clearly proud of their achievements.

The Doctor dropped Toulouse upon hearing the word K'thellid. He was sure he'd never come across it before, but a whole new body knowledge poured into him. Sounds, images, coordinates, field reports. A shocked expression appeared on his face as he realised that the marker stone he encountered in the forest had done its job. Blinking, he recomposed himself, retrieving his new companion from the floor and catching up with what was going on in the room beyond. Aldus was still reading the letter.

" '_I am sure I need not remind you that your Constabulary is been charged with preserving the laws of the city, and that you have personally sworn to support the integration of the fallen and the K'thellid by tracking down and prosecuting these vigilantes.' _"

"Aye," said the Commander, breaking from the letter for a moment, "but it doesn't count if you stand on one foot while you're saying it!"

The men laughed at the joke, and the Sheriff winked at them. "It was my sworn duty, like that of our ancestors, to wipe the enemy from the face of this planet. And you can rest assured that that is exactly what we will do!"

The Guard raised their tankards again, laughing, quaffing stimulant beer, and exchanging side comments among themselves.

"Shush, boys. This is serious," said Aldus, not entirely seriously. There was more to come. " _' The Protector informs me that three initiates have been despatched during that time, but that none have arrived.'_ "

"I can't think why that would be," sniggered Creen.

" '_I appreciate your resources are thinly stretched policing the markets, and that violence towards the K'thellid has risen in recent months, but you were voted extra powers at the Vernal Council, and relations between our two races are at an all-time low.'_ "

This last remark raised a small cheer, and a few raised tankards.

" '_I urge you to increase patrols during the dark cycle. These criminals must be deterred at all costs.'_ "

Aldus again broke from the letter with another well-received wisecrack.

"It's not as if I'd invite them round to my house for breakfast, eh, lads?"

He paused for more laughter, before continuing. " _'Should you require any help in pursuing these objectives, I am more than happy to offer my support.'_ "

The Commander screwed up the letter into a small ball. Throwing it at the waste bin next to the door that led from the kitchen to the cells. He missed, and it sailed through the crack in the door, landing a couple of inches from the Doctor's boot.

"What do you think boys?" asked Aldus. " Should we take the abbot up on his kind offer? Maybe I can get him to post a few of his brothers on the town walls."

The Doctor and Toulouse stared at the letter before exchanged glances. The Doctor reached up and wiped the grin from his face. It wasn't appropriate any more.

"Some of the menk brothers, perhaps?" Creen suggested. "I wouldn't mind nailing a few of _them_ to the town walls."

The Doctor scrabbled to his feet, edging away from the conversation inside and looking for another exit.

"I've got an idea," said another of the Guard, Jerome. The hairs on the back of the Doctor's neck started to bristle. "Why don't we dress the stranger up as one of us and hold a trial. That might take some of the pressure off."

Slipping Toulouse into his pocket, the Doctor decided to run for it. He could burst into the room and be out through another door in no time. There was no way he'd let them…

"Absolutely not!" Aldus's response was a welcome one, and the Doctor relaxed. "As far as men are concerned, whether they're locals or not, I am still the law. I'll not treat him as an animal."

"So what will you do with him?"

"Well," explained the Commander, "I do have a plan…"

The Doctor winced, settling back down to listen to what his captors had in store for him.

* * *

A few short miles away, on the same planet but facing different captors, Romana had the feeling she was about to be confronted with some less than welcome news. As she always did in these situations, the more disconcerted she became, the more the imperious Lady Romana would emerge. She'd demanded answers, and now the abbot appeared to be settling down and giving them to her.

"We… our people, that is, came to K'thellid a little over two million years ago." He began. "They were recruited from the armies of Demos, to fight on behalf of the Empire."

"Empire?" Romana assumed that he was referring to the Gallifreyan Empire. That meant that while placing events two million years ago for the people of K'thellid, it was closer to eight million years ago in her own time stream. "You said Demos? _The_ Demos? In the Kasterborus system?"

Gesar nodded. "We, like you, were once descended from the Great Houses. We have the same blood, the same heritage, the same history. All that made us different was our colonial status."

"You couldn't set foot in the Capitol if you came from one of the colonies." Romana remembered the period from her middle history lessons. After the Time Wars the Time Lords became isolationist, unilaterally withdrawing from most of their colonies, ending ten thousand years of history with a single decision. They still maintained a trade relationship, but it was a one-sided affair that led to one of many migrations away from the home world.

"Exactly. But we had a leader who wanted to change that. She negotiated recognition for the bloodlines of Demos in return for one last service in the name of the Empire."

"You're talking about the Silver Queen, aren't you?" Romana knew the story well, and had spent many long hours poring through the legends in her aunt's library back on Gallifrey.

"Pengallia, the Silver Queen," Teyamat clarified. Where Romana felt mild embarrassment about one of the skeletons in Gallifrey's closet, the old crone beamed with pride as she said the name.

"She was the founder of your House, Romana," continued Gesar. "The House of Devouring Hounds."

"I know my family history, abbot. Are you saying that you're my kin?" The Doctor was doubtless used to this sort of thing, but landing on a planet full of exiled distant relatives was, at best, a new experience for Romana.

"No. There were a handful from your House, but for the most part our ancestors belonged to martial houses, like Kaydengarde and Iboritrix. They were proud warriors; the backbone of the Demosian military."

Romana recalled a time when the Time Lords denounced violence. Since then their intervention policies meant persuading others to act on their behalf. It was a policy that continued even to the present, when another member of her House, the renegade Morbius, was defeated by an alliance which smacked of Time Lord interference where none was apparent. To this day the identity of its Supreme Commander had evaded the history books.

"But they were a loyal House, and when Pengallia's regime was overthrown, they were by her side. They were here with her when she was cast her into the outer darkness."

"But I've never heard of K'thellid," Romana said dismissively. "It certainly doesn't appear in the House Register. That just says that Pengallia was exiled, never to return."

"The Time Lords erase their enemies from history all the time. Come over here." The abbot stood, gesturing for Romana to join him as he turned to a wooden panel on the wall behind him. Sliding the panel to one side, he flooded the room with unfiltered blue sunlight. Standing beside him, Romana looked through the window. The view was breathtaking. She saw the slope of the mountain, the tops of the trees, and the ocean, which stretched around the island in every direction.

"There," Gesar pointed beyond the forest, where Romana could make out an old and weathered walled city. "The population is fairly constant. About six hundred people. This island restricts our growth, and what technology we had is in decline. Out there…" he pointed to the sea, "is the under city. Its population numbers in the millions. And we were at war with them."

"What happened?"

"A miracle," said Teyamat. "The Queen sacrificed herself for the sake of peace, so her people… yours and ours, could survive."

The abbot slid the shutter closed, and returned to his desk.

"Unfortunately," he continued, "with such a tiny population, and land unsuitable for agriculture, they have been forced rely on others for the resources they need to exist. The Monastery grows their crops, while the meat is provided by the K'thellid. They've become demoralised. Broken. They don't even call themselves Demosians anymore. They call themselves the fallen."

"So how did Pengallia sacrifice herself?"

The abbot shrugged. "She just vanished. Nobody knows for certain what happened. The fallen blame her disappearance on the Time Lords, and they've created a legend that she will appear in their time of greatest need."

Gesar reached into a drawer beneath his desk and took something out. It was a small glass orb of some kind.

"Now, after nearly two million years," he glanced at the orb, then back to Romana, "she is returned to us."

"I don't understand," said Romana. "How?"

"Here." The abbot held out the globe. There was a small image trapped inside. "Take a look at this. What do you see?"

Romana looked. She looked again. "This is… me?"

"That is the image of the Silver Queen," said the abbot, "and it was captured on the day she left us."

Romana was stunned. Even the Doctor would find landing on a planet full of exiled distant relatives, loyal to the memory of a great, great, grand-ancestor who just happened to be his exact double, to be a little disconcerting.

* * *

K9 was in a sorry state. Even in optimal condition the change in surface when he found himself in a waterlogged bog would have caused the Doctor to pick him up and carry him. But without his master, or his head, he had struggled on. His skirt was caked with peaty bog, and his visual sensors had long since been rendered useless. Decapitated, sensors incapacitated, the little robot had pressed on. He had reached the edge of the city, and was considering his options. He was unable to determine the Doctor's whereabouts in his present condition, and was uncertain of what reception he might receive from the city's inhabitants. There was insufficient data for him to determine whether the threat was posed by a small group of men or the entire population.

When he scanned for life-signs, K9 found two distinct patterns. In the main town, there were many alpha-wave signatures which resembled those of the Doctor's own people. This, he calculated, was his master's most probable location.

To the east of the city, on the coast, K9 found a very different pattern. It was alien, with only the barest similarity to that of the Time Lords. In numbers, despite occupying a much smaller surface area, K9 calculated that the beings he had detected must outweigh the town's human population by more than twenty-to-one.

K9 headed east. He came to a halt after several hundred metres, realising that the street, despite being hard and smooth, was waterlogged. By the sparking electricity dancing around his head shortly before he shut down, K9 calculated that he was trapped in a body of water approximately eight centimetres deep.

* * *

With the last of the morning ale gone, and a dozen very vicious, and very stimulated vigilantes wanting to make their way home to prepare themselves for their work cycle, the Doctor retreated to his cell.

It was a hasty retreat, in which poor Toulouse had been an early casualty, falling from the Doctor's pocket in their haste. The Time Lord had only noticed a few moments after the satisfying click of his cell door. He cursed himself for the loss; a fruit from another world, especially one with eyes and a nose still painted on it, could draw a lot of attention to itself. Fortunately, the Doctor consoled himself, he had heard Aldus' cunning plan, and had no illusions about the ineptitude of his captors. He'd not heard anything so stupid since Professor Zaroff had planned to raise Atlantis from the ocean floor.

The sack and bonds lay where the Doctor had left them, but his plans had changed. The secret of a good escape, Houdini had agreed, was keeping up the pretence that you were still incapacitated by your bonds. Slipping back into the sack and binding it from the inside was certainly been a challenge, but not insurmountable for a 759-year old Time Lord who once trod the variety boards as 'Doctor Tempus – Lord of Illusion.'

Slipping back into his dark, cloth cocoon, the Doctor focused his thoughts upon the wave of new information that had entered his time brain. He sorted it, then he indexed it and, finally, he assimilated it.

To another species, the forcible insertion of unwanted data into the neural pathways would be the mental equivalent of rape, but to a Time Lord this technique had first been introduced as a time tot. Back then they called it brain buffing, and the Doctor had experienced his more than his fair share over the years. But this had been different. He sensed that even more elusive information had been buried deep inside his mind, and that so far he was only aware of the information unlocked when Aldus mentioned K'thellid.

Rolling his eyes into the back of his head, the Doctor slipped into a trance, desperate to explore his time brain, and to see what else may have been hidden away there.

When the Honour Guard returned to take him away, he would be otherwise engaged.


	5. Book One Chapter Four

**Four**

Clearing away the breakfast plates, Sheriff Aldus readied the kitchen for the twilight shift. Unlike the Guard, Aldus was tired. Fortunately, as Sheriff, he was the man in charge. Sergeant Malthus would be happy to cover for him for a couple of hours. Just so long as he cleared up before the shift began.

The sergeant had been absent from the night's escapade. Family problems. For once the Sheriff was grateful for the absence. The men hadn't got too out of hand, and his hastily concocted plan for the stranger hadn't been questioned in front of the Guard.

Aldus still couldn't figure out how, on a planet sealed away from the rest of the universe, a stranger could possibly turn up. This Doctor must have come from the monastery. Perhaps he abandoned their lifestyle and wanted to return to the city after many years. Perhaps he was a spy, sent by the abbot to report back on the Guard's activities or, more importantly, to report back on the Sheriff's progress.

Opening the door to the cell-block, the big man stepped forward, retrieving the abbot's letter and, with a crispy crunch, crushed poor Toulouse underfoot.

The Sheriff picked up the strange fruit. Its pasty eyes looked pitifully up at him as he sniffed it, and dabbed his tongue onto its pulpy surface, tasting the apple juice. Momentarily intrigued, Aldus decided it must have fallen from the stranger's pockets when they bundled him into the cell. It didn't occur to him that the Doctor had been brought in from the opposite end of the corridor, nor that he had been tied up in a sack at the time.

What did occur to him, however, was how vital it was that this Doctor must not find out that Sheriff Aldus and the Commander of the Honour Guard were, in fact, one and the same.

He tossed the apple, and the abbot's letter, into the waste bin. Closing the door, he returned his attention to the washing up.

* * *

The sparking of live electrical circuits drew the attention of the strange denizens of the shanty town. The city was divided by the over city, occupied by land-dwellers, and the under city, where the native K'thellid lived, far beyond the reach of the Honour Guard.

Between the two cities was the waterlogged Portside. In the early days of their co-existence, the land-dwellers had tried to be independent, building a fishing port and planning to sustain themselves on what they found in the sea. Sadly, nine tenths of what they caught was either poisonous, mildly radioactive, or both. Their methods also endangered the K'thellid themselves, who were forced to travel away from the fishing fleets for the few decades they had spent trialling the process. Eventually, it was agreed that the K'thellid would farm and provide edible food in exchange for an end to the fishing fleets. It had been the right choice, but many of the land-dwellers became irrational, complaining that the loss of self-sufficiency somehow made them weaker. They believed that their continued existence would be at the whim of the K'thellid.

Self-sufficiency was an alien concept to the K'thellid. Their entire existence was based upon building symbiotic relationships with other races, and there were many beneath the ocean which formed more than ninety-nine percent of the world's inner surface. The most important of these relationships was with the crab-like landmounts, which spent much more time in and around the humans than their K'thellid riders, who rarely visited the over city and its environs. The K'thellid term for a landmount was _m'nch'k_, a word not easily pronounced by the fallen, who had chosen to corrupt it into a vulgar contraction which they applied equally to both species_. Menk_. The fallen had never needed to find a separate word for the landmounts and the K'thellid, because on land these two races were inseparable, physically merging into a single organic unit for the purpose of trade and communication with the humans.

But this special relationship was only required on land, where the cephalopodic K'thellid were unable to walk unaided. The m'nch'k lived close to the surface, ready to bond and serve when the need arose.

When the fallen withdrew from Portside, the landmounts had adopted it as their habitat.

The strange, box-like alien object which lay sparking in the shallow waters of portside drew the attention of the landmounts first. One by one, their carapaces glittering in the twilight, they began to fill the long-abandoned street. Some emerged from underwater boreholes which led up from the under city; some crept out from dank and derelict buildings, long-since converted into shelters from the sea; others had been scavenging along the abandoned portside streets.

Since the arrival of the fallen, the landmounts had developed a row of rudimentary eyes, which lined the forward edge of their exoskeleton. Their similarity to crabs was superficial. They had eight legs, or peraeopods, which they used to scuttle forwards or to sidle, and two much bigger forelimbs. The larger of these was an opposable claw, while the smaller ended with a flat horny blade which resembled an organic scoop or shovel. Like crabs, their torso was protected by a solid, convex exo-skeleton, but there the resemblance ended. They were far more intelligent than a crab, with large deep-set brains, and they were omnivorous, with soft, unprotected bellies and multiple digestive systems leaving their low-slung undersides exposed and vulnerable.

Despite this top-heavy, pot bellied appearance, it was only a matter of a few minutes for dozens of landmounts to completely surround K9.

Uncertain of their discovery, the creatures pushed and prodded. Some recoiled as bolts of mild electrical discharge coursed through their bodies. Others, connecting the pain to the sparks coming from K9's neck, also concluded that the robot was not a native of the sea.

Scooping him up, one of the m'nch'k lifted him from the water, setting him gently into a depression set into the back of another. At the base of this depression, lay a pair of large sphincters, which opened as K9's body was lowered towards them.

The sphincters spewed out thick globs of white mucus, which stuck fast to K9's underside. A pair of tendrils then slid from the sphincters, wrapping around K9 and fixing him tight. The m'nch'k then bowed low. Unable to guarantee the waterproofing process, it waited for its kin to complete the task.

Adjusting K9's head with its scoop, another of the landmounts leaned forward, opening its mouth wide. Again mucus sprayed forwards, completely encasing the robot.

There was a squeal, and another landmount clattered forward. Unlike the other m'nch'k, it had a rider. A squid-like K'thellid perched on top of its mount, its location exactly corresponding to that of K9. Its beak clattered, and its tentacles waved. The m'nch'k beneath it squealed and chittered at K9's mount, which continued the dialogue.

Like K9, the K'thellid was fixed to its landmount by a web of thick mucus. While K9's covering was white and sticky, the K'thellid's bond with its mount had already set, and now formed a transparent shell which held it in place.

The two landmounts bobbed and turned together, sidling towards the sea, where the water level began to rise. By the time they were submerged, K9's protective coating had cleared and solidified. He was completely safe in a watertight cocoon as they slipped into a bolt hole, crawling downwards through a spiralling underground tunnel, taking their discovery deeper and deeper into the caverns which lay far beneath the city's water table.

* * *

Time on K'thellid wasn't measured in hours, but by the colour of the sunlight. The twilight cycle was divided into three shifts, blue, yellow, and red, and each shift was further subdivided by the finer colours of the spectrum. The transition from violet to indigo signalled the beginning of the working day.

For Sheriff Aldus, this transition went unnoticed. He was asleep on the job, his head propped up by his arm, still clutching a tea towel as he snoozed at the duty desk whilst waiting to be relieved by his deputy, Sergeant Malthus. It wasn't uncommon for him to snooze when things were quiet, and since the Guard had relaunched its campaign against the K'thellid he was prone to a level of over tiredness which even the morning ale couldn't keep at bay.

The bad dreams hadn't helped. They started on the day after the attacks on the K'thellid began, and had been eating away at his resolve ever since.

First came the light, breaking out of the darkness. It was the white shift of the Oculus, burning brightly. It stared down at him, its pupil wide, and blinking. Beyond the flares of light, the contours of the sun would assume the shape of a great, alien eye.

The eye would grow and grow as it moved ever closer towards him, softening to change from its alien form into that of an elegant human woman.

"What?" Aldus was never quite sure what was happening. The woman before him wore a traditional silver battlesuit over the more formal heliotrope robes of her college. Her hair was tied back and ornately shaped into a glittering bun, encrusted with gemstones mined from deep beneath Mount Madronal.

"Aldus." Her voice was aloof. Regal. Commanding. The woman's appearance was familiar, but not enough that he could instantly place it.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Do you not recognise your Queen?"

"You?" Aldus was confused. "You're not my Queen."

She ignored his protest, and pressed her inquiry. "Why do you continue your war on the K'thellid?"

Aldus shook his head. "If you were truly my Queen, you'd know that it's your war, not mine. You brought us here. It's your name that rallies us."

The phantom Pengallia shook her head sadly. "I made peace with the K'thellid."

"Lies," he denied her word, "religious propaganda."

"Truth," she pressed. "The peace was by my command."

"No." He looked around, but found that he was surrounded by the darkness once more. Except for her face.

"You aren't real," he argued. None of this is real. The menks are behind this."

"I am your Queen."

"No," he continued. "It's the menks playing with my mind." He turned away, addressing the invisible audience he was convinced lay beyond the darkness. "Get out of my head!"

"Not until you leave the K'thellid alone," said Pengallia.

"That will never happen!"

"Then I shall be here every night, Aldus. Watching you. Torturing you."

Aldus backed away, flailing in the dark. As he struggled against her words the Queen's face reared up at him from every direction, oppressing him, and forcing him out of his dream and back into reality.

"Are you alright?" A voice roused him. It was Sergeant Malthus reporting for duty. Aldus blinked. He was shivering, and his face was covered in a thin film of cold sweat.

"Morning, Sheriff," bellowed the sergeant, unsure that his manager was fully awake.

"What? Oh, Malthus. Sorry," he mopped his face with the tea towel. "I must have nodded off."

"No worries, boss. I'll get some tea on." Malthus was a slight man, with thinning hair, thick sideburns and a bushy moustache. Unlike the Sheriff, he was wide awake.

"You managed to get some rest then," said Aldus. "How's Melosa?"

"Not well," said Malthus, sombrely. His wife was dying, her cells slowly breaking down as carcinogens spread through her body. Dr. Tavic had given her only a few days to live, and the sergeant had been maintaining a bedside vigil. "She slept through the night, though. I'm sorry I couldn't join you."

Aldus dismissed the offer. "You had more important things. Although you were sorely missed."

"The lads behave themselves?"

"They were a little over-zealous, as usual, but at least it focuses their energies. Better to have them beating up a menk than causing trouble on my streets. There was," he paused, "just the one complication. We were caught."

"Caught?" Malthus started, "who by?"

"Well that's just it." Aldus was a little embarrassed by the affair, and still couldn't quite come to terms with it. "He was a stranger. Said he was a doctor. We slung him in Cell three until we decided what to do with him."

"He's here? But that's…"

"It's alright Malthus. He didn't see our faces, and he's still wrapped up tight. Can't see a thing. He couldn't possibly know where he is."

"So what's your plan?"

Aldus hadn't been looking forward to this. Whenever he explained an idea to Malthus, he always got the impression that the sergeant would come up with a better one, or else point out the flaws in his plans. "Well, we take him round the block and dump him on the doorstep. You and I help him inside, listen to his story, sympathise, give him a meal and a hot cup of tea, tell him we're dealing with it, and then let him go."

There was a significant pause as Malthus digested the plan. "Just like that?"

"Well, er… I can't see what else we could do short of killing him, and you know my views on that."

"Yes," Malthus agreed, frowning. There were few enough of the fallen left without killing another one. "You said he was a doctor? But it wasn't Dr. Tavic?"

"No. I don't know where he came from."

"Perhaps he could help Melosa?"

Aldus though that suggestion unlikely. Carcinogenesis was the most common cause of death among the fallen. It was invariably fatal. Malthus was obviously clutching at straws. The Sheriff decided to give him a little hope. What harm could it do? "It's possible I suppose," he said. "We can always ask."

"What sort of doctor do you suppose he is?"

Aldus shrugged. "Like I said, he's a complete stranger. His clothes were odd, and he had a robot with him."

"A robot?"

"Yes, a robot with a gun. We destroyed it."

"But how could a stranger and a robot turn up here? Ours is the only settlement outside of the monastery, and between us, you and I must know every citizen on a first-name basis."

It was a good point. Throughout as much of his life as he could remember, Aldus had never seen any outsiders. Ever. The city was, in reality, little more than a big village with a grand name. Everyone knew everyone else, and the only real secret it had kept involved the identities of the Honour Guard, and that had taken years of careful preparation to preserve.

"I have a theory," said Aldus. "I think he must be an ex-monk who decided to leave. He was probably on his way down to join the city when he stumbled across us."

"Hmm." Malthus considered the scenario. "It's possible, I suppose. But they're normally much more formal about it."

"Perhaps he chose to leave on a whim. We can find out when we question him."

"So when were you planning on moving him?"

"I thought the orange shift might be best," suggested Aldus. "We wouldn't want any more witnesses."

"Is that a good idea?"

Aldus winced. He knew there must be a flaw. "What's the problem?"

"He'll need food and water before then," explained the sergeant. "And nobody could mistake your cooking, Sheriff."

"Gods of Profanity, you're right. I'd better deal with him now."

* * *

Teyamat had escorted Romana to a private chamber, set in the highest tower of the monastery which, the old woman told her, overlooked the gardens. It was a fairly spacious chamber, which the old crone identified as that used by Pengallia during her brief reign as Regent of K'thellid. At its centre lay a grand four-poster bed, scattered with jewel-encrusted pillows and surrounded by a variety of silver incense and candle stands.

The floor was covered with a plush lilac rug, into which the Patrex Seal had been picked out in a deeper shade of the more traditional heliotrope. The walls were mirrored, reflecting the thing rays of brilliant blue light which crept through the cracks in the shuttered blinds. A cone of light settled directly onto a large wooden desk propped against the far wall. It still held some of the Queen's personal effects. There was a holocube, a data pad, a quill and inkpot, a hairbrush, and a small monitor screen set into the lacquered veneer of the desktop.

"You might as well use this room, my child," she had said. "Brother G'thon will be outside should you need him."

"So I'm a prisoner?" Romana had stated, bluntly.

Teyamat chuckled. "Hardly. You are our guest for now, and in a few short hours you will be much, much more."

"What's that supposed to mean?" But before her question could be answered, the old mother had hurried out of the room.

Toying with the Silver Queen's old hairbrush, Romana sat herself down. She still had the Queen's image in her hand, and held it up so she could compare its features to her own. Even the slightest blemish was replicated by the face which stared back at her from the large mirrored wall.

It couldn't be a coincidence. Physically at least, Romanadvoratrelundar and Pengalliadvoramiel were one and the same. Mentally, the former shuddered at the thought.

While his body was curled up in foetal comfort, the Doctor's mind walked in eternity.

The stars of the universe stretch out to infinity as he walked through the vast conceptual ocean of his mind. A shoal of happy memories swam by, shifting direction to avoid the dark shade of one of his encounters with the Cybermen. Rooted beneath his feet, the well worn cobbles which held his childhood echoed with each footfall, while overhead the distant shade of his future self watched and waited.

Ahead of him, at the end of the path, stood of granite monolith, a conceptual version of the tychomnemonic array he had encountered in the forest. Unlike its real-world counterpart, the Doctor's dream-analogue had a keyhole, located at the centre of the spiral symbols etched into its surface.

Taking the TARDIS key from around his neck, the Doctor reached forward, inserting it into the lock. He gave the key a quarter turn, and the symbols on the block of granite changed shape, shifting into a version of Old High Gallifreyan with which the Doctor was familiar. He scanned the words.

They revealed the knowledge he had already assimilated. The history of K'thellid, the first strike, the War, the coming of the Silver Queen, a record of her treachery, and finally the resolution. There was nothing here he didn't know.

He turned the key again, another quarter turn.

This time, the Doctor felt strong resistance. The key could not complete its action. It was as the Doctor suspected. There was more data hidden away, waiting to be released by a second mnemonic lock. Without knowing, or encountering, the trigger, the Doctor would not find what he was looking for.

The monolith faded. The stars receded and the memory shoals darted away into the distance.

The Doctor was back in his body. He could feel the rub of the sack-cloth, the cut of his bonds, and the movement of his body as it shifted slightly. He sensed that he was mobile again, tied to the back of a similar steed to that which brought him from the forest. It was moving at a gentle canter, hooves clopping against the cobbles.

After several minutes the Doctor felt himself ungraciously dumped onto solid ground. It was a gentle drop, and he gathered he was now lying at the entrance to the City Constabulary, just where Aldus said he would be left. Silently, he started counting. At less than thirty, an unfamiliar voice acknowledged his presence.

"What the…" it said melodramatically. The Doctor felt himself poked, prodded, patted and then dragged across the cobbles and up a set of steps. The stone ridges dug into his back as his 'saviour' hauled him into the entrance hall.

"Sheriff!" Sergeant Malthus bellowed. "Get over here."

The Doctor felt his bonds loosen, and the sack drawn over his body. He stayed as limp as he could, feigning semi-consciousness as the sergeant checked him over.

"What's going on, Malthus?"

"I found this fellow dumped on our doorstep, boss."

"What? That's outrageous!" Aldus, the Time Lord reckoned, was a much worse actor than Malthus.

The Doctor snapped his eyes open wide, flashing a broad and uncompromising grin. "Hello." He beamed cheerily.


	6. Book One Chapter Five

Five 

The data pad flickered into life. Spread casually across the sumptuous bed, her head propped up on her elbows, Romana idly scrolled through the last words entered by its former owner. She had already skimmed through thousands of entries covering a dozen decades. In her years as a time tot, little Romy had proved particularly adept at the art of speed reading. The secret, Aunt Baba had always told her, was to get an idea of when the writer would get to the point.

Pengallia had made several points. In the earlier entries, her anger at the Time Lords' betrayal was dominant. Being imprisoned on K'thellid had been frustrating, and revenge seemed at the foremost of her desires. As years passed into decades the anger shifted, and concerns that she might lose control became apparent. But she had held back. The entries conveyed her mood but not, Romana sensed, her innermost thoughts. Either that or they had been deleted. There were missing and edited entries throughout the journal, and they were becoming more apparent as she scrolled forwards.

In her last days Pengallia was openly confessing her fears. Both about the survival of her people, and the collapse of an uneasy peace between the Demosians and the K'thellid.

The overcity could not sustain itself much longer, and the lack of resources would leave them vulnerable should the K'thellid decide to attack. With neither a Protector, nor direct access to their god, their civilisation had been in disarray for decades. But whatever influence Pengallia had over the natives was waning, and she was anticipating a bloody and final revenge.

As she lowered the data pad, Romana became aware that Teyamat had returned. The old woman stood silently, looking down upon her. It was a little disconcerting.

"The Silver Queen was a fascinating woman," she said, breaking the ice.

"Far less autocratic than legend has it."

Teyamat smiled. "Oh, she was certainly autocratic. You must remember that only her military advisers joined her crusade. Her political peers stayed at home." She paused, looking away with a hint of bitterness. "All the better for them to betray her."

"You speak as if you knew her."

"Do I?" The crone smiled dismissively, her eyes belying her reply. "The story of the Silver Queen is the only history we have here. After two million years her life is the only thing that has meaning for us. You must forgive an old woman's…passion."

"Before, in the abbot's office, you said that Pengallia had sacrificed herself. And here, in her journal, she says here people are in danger of extinction if she doesn't act. What did she do?"

"That's not important right now," said Teyamat, crossing the room and staring at her own reflection in one of the mirrored walls. "There will be plenty of time for you to find out later."

"Oh? I'm not sure I'll be staying that long."

Teyamat ignored Romana, motioning with her right hand. The mirror responded, fading away like smoke. It revealed a lavish wardrobe beyond; stocked with some of the most extravagant clothes even a noble like Romana had never seen.

"Here," the old woman reached into the wardrobe, withdrawing a set of garments which had been isolated from the rest. It flashed silver and heliotrope. "The robes Our Lady wore for her coronation. Why don't you try them on?"

"What?" Romana rose from the bed, instinctively reaching out for the costume. She held it up to admire the needlework, the cut of the dress, and the feel of the shimmering silk against her skin. It felt good. She ran her fingers along the hem; encrusted with the richest selection of jewels she had seen this side of Calufrax. It was gorgeous. She simply had to try it on.

But then she asked herself why. "What do you want me to wear this for?"

"Well, when you are invested, you'll want to be looking your very best. And I doubt that shabby old time ship of yours would have anything as fine as this…"

Romana agreed, still captivated by the robes. "I'm sure you're right. These clothes are fit for an Empress, but… did you say invested? What do you mean? Why would I need to look my best?"

"The Ceremony of Investiture is our grandest ceremony, Romana."

"Investiture as what?"

"As Queen, of course. To reaffirm your position as …"

"So let me get this right," Romana interrupted. "You believe that I _am_ Pengallia?"

Teyamat nodded. "Returned to us."

"So as your Queen, you have to obey me?"

"Forgive me, Romana," Teyamat sighed, "your body is the vessel through which Pengallia has returned. Only when you have undergone the ceremony will you be reunited with your memories."

Romana passed the garment back, declining the offer. "I have my memories, thanks. And I'm not ready to give them up."

"Hmm." The old woman reached forward, placing her hand above Romana's breast. "Two hearts? This isn't your first body."

"It is. Modern Gallifreyans are bicardial from the moment we're loomed. Why do you ask?"

"Because you react like someone who's never regenerated. Pengallia's mind won't squeeze you out. You'll keep your memories."

"And my personality?"

Teyamat drew a slim booklet from the folds of her robes. "Here," she said coldly. "This is the script for the ceremony. I suggest that you spend the rest of the cycle familiarising yourself with it."

"I won't do this," said Romana, defiantly.

"If you're anything like Pengallia, I'm sure your curiosity will get the better of you. I'd say you were a born leader. The ceremony will be held at the lightbreak, in the next cycle but one. Think about it."

Placing the coronation robes on the bed, Teyamat left the room.

In a dark underwater tunnel, a small red light winked into existence. K9 was firmly bound in place by a protective shell of some kind. Unable to wiggle his sensors or extend his probe, the small robot was prevented from properly analyzing the shell, reliant instead upon observation. It was strong, transparent, airtight, resistant to changes in atmospheric pressure, and able to conduct sound.

The descent was quick, but bumpy. K9 noted the shell's capacity for absorbing impact damage, and conducted a brief self-diagnostic. His operating efficiency had stabilised, and his cerebral functions appeared to be intact. He reviewed his memory banks. They were intact and… K9 noted that his stored memories were of a greater volume than they had been when he shut down. 0.2743 exabytes greater, to be precise. He isolated the moment the information had been uploaded through his exitonic circuits into his memory core at a frequency of….one point six microbars. There was also a new file present. It was labelled _K-thellid._

K9 accessed the file.

Some time later, while his processors still assimilating the new data, K9 emerged from the tunnel into a large underground pool. His m'n'ch'k escort carried him across the rocky surface at the bottom of the pool, and K9 was able to pick up flashes of luminous blue and silver as sea-creatures high in mineral content flashed past them. Soon they were ascending a reef. Luminous and displaying a dazzling arrange of colours, its artificial symmetry indicated an external influence, which became more apparent as the serried ranks of the corals shifted into the shape of a large, translucent dome which K9's new memories identified as the K'thellid under city.

Entering one of the many wide passageways which were scattered across the dome, K9 became aware of the cephalopods surrounding him, passing back and forth between the 'streets'. Most were unattached, but some were bonded to ground-walking m'n'ch'ks, and others to large whale-like creatures whose behaviours suggested that they might be beasts of burden.

At the heart of the dome K9 was carried through a quadrangle, and beyond that into an inner palace constructed from heavier elements than would be found in a coral reef. The colours indicated the presence of hematite, antimony, copper, palladium and gold, but the robot dog's urge to analyse was still suppressed by his protective shell. The opportunity soon passed however, as the m'n'ch'k took him deep into the palace itself.

At its centre, K9 felt a pressure change as his mount brought them before an opaque energy barrier of some kind. Without pausing it stepped through the barrier, and into a large air-filled chamber.

It was a large, circular council chamber. Or a throne room. Or both. There were tiered, circular rows running around the room, each occupied by large numbers of pink k'thellid. All were wearing water-filled shells, serving the opposite purpose of that surrounding K9. At the centre of the chamber, filling up about a third of the room, was a large, free-floating circular dais, on which rested the heaving, pulsating body of the single largest k'thellid K9 had encountered so far. Its thick ruddy skin was rough and heavily wrinkled, suggesting that its size may have been a consequence of its great age. He estimated that it was approximately four metres in diameter and three metres high. Unlike the other k'thellid he had observed thus far, it had two large, white milky discs for eyes.

K9's mount tipped itself forwards, and he found himself sliding towards the ground. Within moments the m'n'ch'k had sprayed him with another mucous like substance, and his protective shell began to disintegrate.

The m'n'ch'k sidled from the chamber, leaving K9 alone at the vast k'thellid's base.

Its eyes focused on K9. Something was happening.

Slowly damaged joints and connections within K9's torso began to move, reconnecting and restoring his operational parameters. The dents in his head and torso filled out, and the cable connecting them retracted. K9 observed the reconnection of his head, and the restoration of the seals beneath his collar. His sensors detected a high concentration of reverse tachyon chronons. His host was repairing him by reversing the effects of time itself.

A brief self-diagnostic informed K9 that his memory remained intact. With his tracks firmly on the ground again, he trundled forward, extending his sensor probe.

"Query," he stated, "can you confirm that this is the undercity of K'thellid?"

_It speaks!_ The voice had no pitch, and was unlike any K9 had previously processed. The creature appeared to be communicating through his exitonic circuits, in much the same way that his memories had been updated. _Yes, this is the City of K'thellid._

"Besides being identified as the race-name adopted by the planet's indigenous cephalopod population, K'thellid is the local name given to the single planet of the legendary star K'thannid, formerly located in the Constellation of Elysia. This is not the Constellation of Elysia. Explain."

The creature shook like a big jelly. Its tentacles writhed.

Our star system was shifted into a pocket dimension by the Time Lords.

K9 processed this. "Confirmed. The k'thellid race is reported to have been highly intelligent, aggressive, and capable of existing in all eleven dimensions simultaneously."

_You are a remarkably well-informed little robot, but K'thellid is a principle, not a name. _

I am the Protector K'thellid, my people are K'thellid, and our world is K'thellid. And, as you can see, we currently occupy only four dimensions of time and space.

"Your appearance is in keeping with anecdotal descriptions of the k'thellid," said K9.

_You're not listening. We **are** K'thellid. _

"Affirmative. This unit is designated K9."

_Whom do you serve, K9? _thought the Protector

"My master is the Doctor," K9 said, recalling his mission. "The Doctor requires assistance."

_Is that why you are here?_

"Affirmative."

"This really is excellent tea, Sheriff," said the Doctor, smacking his lips together. He was sat in a comfy old chair that Malthus had kindly brought in from the common room. Aldus had flinched when he rested his boots on the desk, but had otherwise displayed no sign of irritation. Admittedly, the eye patch helped. Two eyes were easier to read than just one.

"Thank you," said Aldus, genuinely pleased to receive the compliment. "I pick the leaves myself. The monastery stuff's a little too fragrant for my tastes. How are you feeling, by the way?

"I've been better. My ribs are a little sore and…" he touched the dressing above his left eye, "I'll have a shiner for a few days, but nothing too serious."

"I'm glad to hear it. So, are you ready to tell us what happened?"

"Certainly. I'm a little hazy on some of the details, but I'm sure I'll be able to answer any questions."

"Good." Pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil, the Sheriff got down to business. "First, what's your name?

"I'm the Doctor."

"Your full name?" Aldus pressed.

The Doctor looked vaguely uncomfortable. "I haven't used my real name for more than five hundred years. It's on the tip of my tongue…"

"Never mind. Doctor will do."

From the other side of the room, Malthus coughed gently, clearly unhappy that the Sheriff wasn't going to pursue the matter of the Doctor's name.

"Where are you from, Doctor?

"Oh, here and there. I'm a traveller, you see." The Doctor registered confusion on the Sheriff's face. Perhaps travelling wasn't an option hereabouts. "But I'm from the Monastery originally." He added. "Used to be a monk."

Relief spread across Aldus' face. "There, what did I tell you, Malthus?"

Across the room the sergeant grunted. He was busy taking an additional set of notes for the station's incident book. Largely because Aldus had a tendency to doodle rather than note down the facts. Still, it kept them both busy.

"Look, I was making my way through the forest with my dog, when…"

"Dog?" Aldus hadn't heard of one of those. It must have been the thing with the blaster.

"Yes. My robot pet. He's called K9."

"K9?" Aldus noted something on his little pad. "How does he work?"

"I'm sorry?" This wasn't the question that the Doctor had anticipated.

"Well, I've never seen one before. Most technology doesn't work."

Of course, thought the Doctor. This was a hollow planet with a thick crust, rich in heavy metals. The interference would play hell with higher technologies.

"Er…clockwork and pneumatics mostly, powered by nuclear fuel cells."

"I see." Aldus doodled. He wasn't really interested in technology, just idly curious. "So you and your…dog… were just walking in the woods, minding your own business."

"That's right. We came across a lynching. A bunch of hooded riders were picking on a k'thellid."

"Hooded riders?" The doodling continued. "How many?"

"Oh, lots." The Doctor decided to butter up his host a little. "They were big. And strong. They overpowered me and killed my poor K9. Then they tied me up and took me prisoner."

"How long for?"

"Just a few hours. They kept me in a room or a cave somewhere, and then they picked me up and dumped me here."

"I see." Aldus was focused now, looking for any sign that the Doctor might know more than he was letting on. "Did you see or hear anything that might give away their identities?"

"Not really, I'm afraid," he lied.

"Not to worry," said Aldus, "we know who they were…"

"You do?" The Doctor feigned surprise.

"Indeed. And I can assure you we'll bring them to justice for what they did to you and your…dog."

"And the poor k'thellid," the Doctor added, oozing concern for a fellow creature.

"Of course," said Aldus, as if a bone were stuck in his throat, "and the k'thellid."

The Doctor lowered his feet, leaning forwards and staring earnestly into the Sheriff's good eye. "I'm just sorry I can't tell you where they attacked him. I'm useless with directions. Perhaps we could saddle up and go take a look…"

"Yes, well…" Aldus was keen to curb the stranger's enthusiasm. "I'm sure we'll find it. But I'm more concerned about you, Doctor. The well-being of the living is my first priority."

"Oh," replied the Doctor. "Well, thank you."

"Not at all. Are we done, Sergeant?"

Malthus was now standing at the Doctor's shoulder. He was clearly not yet satisfied, and asked a question of his own. "You said earlier that you were a traveller?"

"Yes, of sorts."

"Will you be settling down in the city?"

"Ah." The Doctor was uncertain how to answer. When the Time Lords had placed their marker stone, there had been no human settlements on K'thellid, and just the one island. If he said no, then there might be nowhere else for him to go. It would look suspicious. "I'm not sure."

"Well, if you want to stay until you're feeling better, there's an empty lodging house next door to me."

"Oh." The Doctor was completely surprised by the offer. As far back as he could remember, no-one had ever offered him a house before. "Er… thank you, sergeant."

"Not a problem," the sergeant beamed. "If you drop back later, I'll sort you out with a set of keys."

"Drop back?" Now the Doctor was confused. "You mean I'm free to go?"

"Of course you are, Doctor," said the Sheriff, standing up to escort him to the door. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh," said the Doctor, reaching out to shake hands. The Sheriff's grip was as strong as an Ice Warrior's. "Thank you again."

"Oh, Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"When you do come back for your keys, perhaps you'd like to stop by for a bite to eat? I cook a mean snailwing casserole."

"How very kind of you, Sheriff. That would be very hospitable of you."

Stepping outside, the Doctor marvelled at how such helpful, hospitable people as Aldus and Malthus could possibly be harbouring such loathing for another species. This place, he decided, warranted further investigation.

"Well?"

Closing the door, Sheriff Aldus felt happy that the Doctor would present no further danger. He wondered if Malthus felt the same.

"He seems genuine enough, Sheriff."

"It certainly looks that way. But I've arranged to have him followed. Just in case there's a problem." He stretched out his hand. "And I was right about him being a monk."

Malthus dropped a couple of groats into the Sheriff's palm. He'd lost that bet fair and square. "What I don't understand," he asked, "is why you didn't push for his name?"

Aldus shrugged. "After five hundred years?" It was easy to forget how long they lived on K'thellid. The planet time forgot. "I can't even remember working up at the monastery, and that was only three hundred years ago. Wait until you get to be that old."

"I suppose." Malthus was a relative youngster. It had only been a hundred-or-so years since he came down from the mountain, and he hadn't had to rejuvenate yet. Unlike his poor wife. Her body couldn't stand another rejuvenation, and soon she'd be making the last journey, back up the mountain. Unless this stranger could help. Malthus cursed himself for not asking what sort of doctor he was.

"At least he's out of our hair," said Aldus. The Sheriff could see what was on Malthus' mind. "Why did you offer him the lodging house next door?"

Malthus shrugged. "Melosa. I thought it might be handy. Dr. Tavic lives on the other side of the city."

"Let's just hope he's a deep sleeper, then. I don't want him to see you riding out in your robes when we go hunting."

"Well we won't be doing much of that if your friend the abbot has anything to say about it."

"Idle threats, Malthus. We just have to pace ourselves. Let the odd _menk_ reach the monastery once in a while, and the abbot will be happy."

"Maybe. Although I could never work out why those things feel the urge to leave the sea to go live at the top of a mountain."

"Ah, the great mysteries, Malthus." The Sheriff paused to consider the question. "If you ask me, it's just politics. They trust us about as much as we trust them, and the monks are too blind to see it. Which is why those bastards are such a threat."

K9's dialogue with Protector K'thellid had been going quite well until the little robot had inadvertently revealed one fact too many.

_So this Doctor of yours is a Time Lord? _The Protector's thoughts had become agitated. Angry. Mottled patches of crimson and purple flashed across its rugose features.

"Affirmative."

The Time Lords are the enemies of K'thellid. My predecessor, and those before him, was Protector not just of the k'thellid, but of the Well of Time itself. Then the Time Lords came. They were jealous of our connection to the great helix. So they waged war upon us. First they closed the Well, and then they stole our powers. The k'thellid have lived in only four dimensions ever since. And when the war was won, the Time Lords even betrayed the leader of their own armies. Why should I assist a Time Lord?

"The Doctor is a renegade Time Lord," offered K9, scouring his circuits to find platitudes appropriate for the occasion. "He does not live by the rules of his people. He only wants to help others, especially those he considers to be 'the underdog'. His predicament is a direct result of an attempt to offer assistance to one of your own kind."

The vivid tones of the Protector's skin paled as he considered K9's words.

_The Protector is one of a kind. But you are right. If this Doctor is as you say, he deserves our help._

If the monks expected Romana to stay in one place until they were ready to impose a new life upon her, then they had another think coming.

Rummaging through the Queen's wardrobe, Romana had found a simple, but elegant, habit not dissimilar to that worn by the monks. She had stripped some of its richer features away – the fur lining, the jewelled hasps, and the silk ties – until what remained would allow her to pass unchallenged through the corridors of Madronal. She had to find the Doctor.

Stepping through the doorway, Romana noted that Brother G'thon was sitting in attendance. Her blind jailer. Emptying her mind of any random thoughts, she walked across the antechamber and out into the labyrinth of corridors which lay beyond.

Drawing up her hood, she accelerated her pace as soon as she reached the first bend, and soon found herself entering the principal concourse. Which spiralled downwards, deep into the mountain.

Brother G'thon sensed the echoes of Romana's thoughts as they receded from his immediate vicinity. He sensed no malice in her, but she had become anxious. She wanted to leave and find someone called 'the Doctor'. Rising silently from his post, G'thon set off to deliver his report to the abbot, as instructed.

As she descended, Romana found herself checking her speed. None of the monks appeared to be in a hurry, and considering the lack of stairs or lifts, it was beginning to frustrate her. She had determined to return to the chamber where she had first arrived. If it wasn't filled with chanting acolytes she could hit the fast return switch and find the Doctor in no time at all.


	7. Book One Chapter Six

**Six**

With the mist reduced to the finest wisps of ground hugging precipitation, the Doctor found the transition from the green to yellow shifts quite pleasant. It was beginning to feel less like twilight, and a little more like morning. From his vantage point in what he assumed was the town square, the city seemed rather unique. Traders were setting up a wide range of market stalls, most of which were offering a little food, assorted bric-a-brac and all sorts of handcrafted goods. A large food barrow was being set up by a group of priests, whom he assumed had made their way down from the monastery to distribute supplies. Similarly, there was a single large seafood stall manned by a couple of elderly folk. They were attended by one of the crab-like creatures, which the Doctor seemed to recall was known as a m'n'ch'k.

For a morning market it wasn't particularly well attended, and beyond the stalls the Doctor noticed that many of the buildings appeared to be derelict and falling into ruin. There were, he realised, lodging houses available everywhere. More homes, he deduced, than there were people.

The Doctor crossed over to the seafood stall, where the pungent metallic tang of the fish assailed his above average sized nostrils. He considered switching to respiratory bypass, but resisted the temptation. It would have been bad manners. Smiling broadly to the old fishmongers, he walked over to the m'n'ch'k, and patted it gently on the shell, taking the opportunity to subject it to closer inspection. It flinched momentarily before settling under his touch. It reminded him of another race he had once encountered, the Macra. Yet this was somehow a much nobler creature and, he noted from the lack of a tether, one that was here by choice, not coercion. He was drawn to the odd depression and nostril sphincters set into the top of its exoskeleton.

"Good morning," he smiled, pulling out a paper bag filled with jelly babies.

"Morning," replied the old man. "Haven't seen you before. New here?"

"Yes," replied the Doctor, balancing a jelly baby on its head and offering it, palms open, to the crustacean. "Just down from the mountain."

"Careful," said the old lady, "they're nervous around most people. Only hang round us because we deal with the k'thellid."

The m'n'ch'k's mandibles twitched, and its mouth opened, sucking in air and the smell of the jelly baby from a few feet away. Almost without warning, a whip-like tendril flicked out of its mouth and lassoed the jelly baby. Its mandibles clicked in approval.

"He likes it," said the old woman, clapping. "That's a rare sight."

"Yes," muttered the Doctor. "And it's my last bag." He rested the paper bag on the creature's outstretched shovel-claw.

"Can we get you anything, sir?" asked the old man.

"No fish, I'm afraid. But perhaps you could tell me where I might find a pint of finest morning ale?"

The peal of a carillon alarum in the key of E reverberated through the mountain's corridors, and Romana knew the game was up. All she could hope was that she might have covered enough ground to make it to the TARDIS. Breaking out into a run, she jostled her way past ascending monks, desperately trying to recall her location in relation to the underground chamber where the TARDIS had been summoned. She was sure it wasn't too far away.

She was drawing too much attention to herself. She noticed that those monks like G'thon, with kraken-heads instead of human ones, were rallying those around them to pursue or stop her. As if they already knew who she was. Unable to proceed downwards, Romana ducked into a side corridor, entering a small warren of cloisters, each occupied with sleeping pallets, small desks and prayer mats. It was certainly a simple life that these monks led. Weaving in and out of increasingly thinner corridors, Romana found herself turning into more and more dead ends as her options started to evaporate.

She doubled back on herself, then took the left fork into an unfamiliar corridor, and then found herself in a wide open chamber. The walls were honeycombed and white, in a pattern immediately familiar, as was the gentle hum, which seemed to fill the room. There was no door, but Romana drew a white curtain across the entrance to the chamber.

Across the far wall were a couple of banks of old machinery, a large tank filled with liquid, and some racks filled with golden rods, each bearing old, long worn labels.

It was a zero room. Or possibly a morgue.

In the centre of the chamber, its most dominant feature, a row of stone pallets was set into the floor. Laid out on these was a pair of naked, human bodies. Both male. They were quite old, but perfectly preserved. The point of a zero environment was to slow cellular deterioration, and to provide the best environment for regeneration and recuperation. These bodies appeared to have died of natural causes, and were beyond the reach of the regeneration process. There were no marks to suggest foul play, but the bodies had been prepared for something. The heads were shaved, and a paste had been painted all over the heads and necks.

Romana then moved over to examine the equipment set against the far wall. The rack of golden rods, as she suspected, contained biodata extracts. These were the race banks which would allow the fallen to survive despite being cut off from Gallifrey. Regeneration here must have been a dangerous affair, and one by one it looked like these people were dying, never to be replaced.

Beside the race banks stood a large tank of water, and beside that was a crude genethliacon or loom. Unlike the House Looms she was familiar with, this model seemed to have been hastily constructed, and was supported by only the most rudimentary of processors. And it was broken. She could see that the seals on the biodata mixer had deteriorated, and that the monitor screens were cracked. Even a fully stocked body shop would be unlikely to get this machinery working again. If all the looms on the planet were like this, there could be no children. Within a generation the fallen would go extinct.

Then she came to the metamorphic symbiosis regenerator. Type three and very much the worse for wear. Tapping at its dials and flicking some switches, Romana concluded that, like the loom beside it, the unit was dead, and probably had been for centuries. Without the luxury of reproduction, this technology had offered the only chance for the Demosians to extend their life spans, and without it the people living on this planet would die sooner, rather than later.

Romana sighed. These people needed her. She and the Doctor were probably the only people on this planet who still knew how to repair these machines.

The Doctor.

Romana turned, swept back the curtain, and stepped out into the corridor where an escort of monks was waiting to return her to her chambers.

The Sword and Staff was a sprawling inn situated on the very edge of the city. At four storeys high the Doctor felt sure that this most impressive of hostelries would be the perfect place for him to brush on his knowledge about the origins of the fallen. His knowledge of pre-colonial K'thellid may have been unsurpassed, but the marker stone had obviously been programmed before the humans arrived. The Doctor needed to understand who they where and where they came from.

Adjusting his coat and scarf, the Doctor braced himself for the attention his entrance would attract. He then proceeded to swing open the double doors to the Inn before adopting the stance of an American outlaw, surveying the lie of the Last Chance Saloon.

It was an impressive bar, built to hold a good number of patrons. It was also mostly empty.

To be fair to the Doctor, his entrance had attracted the attention of everyone at the bar. All four of them. The rest of the room consisted of weathered décor, stacked tables and lot of unlit corners. By the time the Doctor had crossed over to the far end of the bar, the drinkers' attention had returned to themselves.

"Barkeep," the Doctor said loudly, "a pint of your finest morning ale, please."

"Sorry sir, we serve by the jug," replied the barman, pilling out a large pitcher from under the counter. "Just come down from the mountain?" He asked, looking the Time Lord up and down.

The Doctor nodded, accepting the drink. "First day. I'm the Doctor. I'm afraid I haven't any money yet…any chance of a tab?"

The barman nodded, indicating a blackboard behind him. It had half a dozen names chalked up, and looked more like a scoreboard than a bar record. He added the Doctor's name and added a "/" beside it. "I'm Faranberth," he said, "barman, landlord, and innkeeper."

The Doctor sipped his drink. It tasted bitter, like a fermented energy drink made from girders. "I'd expected you to be much busier. Chap at the market said yours was the only pub in town."

Faranberth rolled his eyes. "Only one still open, you mean. Trade's been in decline for years."

"Oh," the Doctor leaned forwards, eager to absorb the gossip. "How come?"

"Numbers. Plain and simple," said Faranberth. "There was a time we'd get newbies from down the mountain all the time, but you're the first I've seen in weeks."

"Aye," one of the locals piped up. "It's all going to pot."

Draining his pitcher, the Doctor topped up his drink. "So the population's shrinking?"

"Shrinking? Listen, Doc, when we came here the Queen's army was twelve thousand strong, add logistics and support and you had, oh, thirty thousand men and women."

"Yes," said the Doctor, fishing a little, "but that must have been a long time ago."

"Aeons," agreed one of the locals.

"And how many are there now?"

"Five…" replied Faranberth, "maybe six hundred."

The Doctor whistled. "They never told me that up the mountain."

"And why would they?" Piped up a local. "They have everything they need up there. They're more interested in the _menks_ than this city!"

"Ulfar, language!" Faranberth snapped, sternly. "Unless you want to live in the gutter I suggest you curb that filthy tongue of yours."

The man sheepishly turned back to his drink.

"I'm sorry about that," said Faranberth. "Moods are getting testier these days."

"That's alright," said the Doctor. "But I don't understand why people hate the k'thellid so much."

"Why?" Faranberth laughed. "Look at these men. They can't mine, because the monks won't like it; they can't farm, because the soil is poison; they can't build, because there's more houses than there are people; they can't play sandball, because there aren't enough players to field a half-decent team; and they can't fish, because the k'thellid complain. All they want is a decent lifestyle, and for two million years it's just got worse and worse."

"Good cycle, Faran," called a voice as another patron entered the inn.

"Good cycle, Nard," replied the landlord, drawing out a pitcher for the newcomer. Nard joined them at the bar. He was young, barely out of his adolescence. Sitting next to the Doctor, he offered his hand.

"I'm Nard," he said, "and you are…?"

"The Doctor." They shook hands.

"He's down from the mountain," explained Faranberth. "Nard here's not long since joined us."

"I came down two seasons ago," said Nard. "You don't look like a newbie though."

"I'm not. I decided to go travelling first. See the world."

"Beyond the island? That's brave. What's out there?"

"Oh. Water. More water. And a few bits of rock sticking up here and there. Nothing to write home about."

"Come on, Doc. There's no way a man could survive out there."

"Not for long, I'll grant you. Which is why I've come back."

"It's a waste, if you ask me. All that water. You know, if they'd vented some of it away like they planned we'd be living in paradise right now."

"Vented? I don't understand."

"What do you mean, you don't understand? Are you sure you come from the monastery?

"Come on, Faran," said Nard. "Where else would he come from? Rendulix is the only world in a one-planet system at the heart of a pocket dimension. Where else would he come from?"

Rendulix?

The Doctor started at the word. It meant _Glittering Jewel at the Heart of Time_, and it was a Gallifreyan name. Worse than that, it was an alternative name for Gallifrey itself. A special name used by travellers far from home, to remind them of their place in the universe. It also triggered something. New memories. The next mnemonic lock had been opened. He reached for the pitcher of ale. He estimated it contained three, maybe four pints. He put it to his lips and drained it in about six large gulps.

"I thought this planet was called K'thellid?" He slammed the pitcher to the table, nodding for another.

Nard sneered. "Not by us. It may be the name they use up on the mountain, where men and k'thellid live and work together, but down here, in the city, we remember the name Our Lady gave it when she claimed this world for the Time Lords, and they rewarded her with treachery."

Glancing around the bar, the Doctor was disappointed to see there was no local equivalent to peanuts or crisps. He grasped the second pitcher.

"Steady with that," said Faranberth as he raised the pitcher. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," the Doctor nodded, turning back to Nard. "What do you mean, Our Lady?"

He drained the pitcher in another seven gulps.

"I thought you said you were from the monastery?" Faranberth looked confused.

"Everyone knows about Pengallia," said Nard. "You're not one of us at all, are you?"

The pitcher fell from the Doctor's hand as the blood drained from his face.

_Pengallia. The Silver Queen. Rendulix. K'thellid. _

A third mnemonic lock clicked open inside his mind, and the Doctor's fears began to overwhelm him. He backed away from the bar, towards the door.

_Carnifex._

The word echoed through his mind. All eyes were upon him. Despite his own uncertainty, Nard stepped forward with the offer of a steadying hand.

The Doctor turned and fled from the inn.

When she stepped back into her quarters under monastic escort, Romana found Teyamat, Abbot Gesar and Brother G'thon waiting for her return. Teyamat's ancient face remained unchanged, while G'thon's alien expression remained unreadable. The abbot's features, however, were harsh and angry.

"Who is the Doctor?" He demanded, getting straight to the point.

"The Doctor?" Romana was momentarily shocked by the question. How could they know? Perhaps the Doctor had already arrived? "Why do you ask?"

"You led us to believe that you came here alone," the abbot said, "yet Brother G'thon here tells me your thoughts were of finding your companion."

G'thon? She turned on the tall k'thellid.

"You dare invade my thoughts."

G'thon responded with a humble bow. _Actually,_ he thought, _you broadcast them. They were all I could connect with to alert me to your presence._

"That's alright, G'thon." Gesar interrupted. "You've no need to excuse yourself. It seems we've been lured into a Time Lord trap."

Romana began to argue. "I can assure you…"

Gesar ignored her platitudes, addressing those around her instead. "They hoped to lure us into a false sense of hope by dressing some spy up in the body of Our Lady, and then sneak an assassin in through the back door."

Romana lost her cool

"Abbot! That's enough!" She snapped, rising to her full height. "I'm not a spy, and neither is the Doctor." She stepped forwards, bringing herself nose to nose with her accuser, staring directly into his eyes. "You can hardly expect me to tell you my secrets when you've kidnapped me and tried to force me into taking the place of your old Queen without so much as a polite request."

Gesar flinched as Romana pressed her advantage, unaware of the slight smile which appeared on old Teyamat's face. "I am a Time Lady of a Senior House, appointed to my current mission by the President of the Time Lords himself. As for the Doctor, he has twice held the post of President, and retains that title as a diplomatic privilege when conducting business on behalf of the Supreme Council."

She paused briefly, letting her newly articulated credentials sink in. It wasn't as if she was lying. "That you forced me to skulk and creep through endless filthy corridors is your doing," she continued, "not mine."

She paused again. With no snappy comeback from the abbot, she risked a little white bluff. "Did it ever occur to you that the political situation on Gallifrey may have changed? Or that we might just be here to help reestablish diplomatic relations between our people?"

"What?" Gesar roused from his moment of apoplexy. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." Romana wasn't sure if her promises could be honoured, but it was surely worth trying to foster a little reconciliation. "I'd be serious about representing your case to the Lord President. It may have been two million years for you, but your exile was closer to ten million years ago where I come from."

The abbot shook his head. "You've no way to prove this isn't a trick, Time Lord."

"Perhaps not," agreed Romana, "but…"

Teyamat interrupted her. "We can tell if it's a trick."

Romana looked at the old woman. She was smiling. "I won't submit to a mind probe," she added, defensively. "I'm trained to…"

"No mind probe will be necessary." Teyamat reassured her. "You must simply complete the Ceremony of Investiture."

"What?" Gesar was surprised by the suggestion. The idea of crowning a possible traitor seemed ludicrous. "How can we proceed when she might be a spy?"

"The Ceremony is more than just a ritual, Gesar." She retrieved the leaflet she had earlier passed to Romana. Unfolding it, she pressed it into the abbot's hands. "Think," she said. "The Communion. The Embrace."

Gesar complied, flipping through the pages as Teyamat spoke.

"Of course," he replied. "Each of the rites is a test which only Pengallia herself can pass." Teyamat nodded, sagaciously. "If Romana is a spy shaped to fool us, she will be exposed. But if the body she wears is truly her own, and she is truly a Scion of Pengallia, then Our Lady _will_ return, and all that she offers may be possible."

"I see, yes." Gesar understood, and so did Romana, who was starting to worry about what tests may lie ahead. "But will she submit? And what of this Doctor?"

Romana swallowed back her doubts and uncertainties. "I'll submit to your ceremony," she agreed. "I've seen that you need me, and I think I can help. As for the Doctor," she added, "he's harmless. His weapon of choice is the mixed metaphor. Once he understands your situation he'll be more than willing to offer you his help."

"In return for your assistance my Master will be willing to offer his assistance," said K9, allaying the k'thellid's remaining concerns about helping a Time Lord. "His preferred means of resolution is conciliatory, and while I am unable to determine how he is able to do so, his chances of bringing matters to a satisfactory conclusion are favourable."

Several warm shades of pink played across the surface of the Protector's skin.

I have agreed that we will render assistance. I shall despatch a troop of k'thellid to find him.

"Query." K9 processed the response, considering the probable scenarios involving the Doctor's rescue. "Is it common for k'thellid to enter the human city?"

No, the Protector explained, a few m'n'ch'k enter the city for the purpose of trade, but we have avoided direct contact for millennia.

"Query." K9 continued. "How would the k'thellid recognise the Doctor-Master?"

I see your point. Protector K'thellid paused, considering the options for itself. I can relay a visual description to the m'n'ch'k. Through their symbiotic link the k'thellid will be able to visualise him.

"Query. Would access to the Doctor-Master's alpha-wave signature be of use to you?"

It would, thought the Protector. I can relay it to both k'thellid and m'n'ch'k. He should be easy to find.

"Confirmed. Transmitting signature now."

K9 dipped his head. Activating his exitonic circuits, he began to transmit.

Cardinal Pengalliadvoramiel, Silver Queen of Demos, Genetrix of Dvora, and Grand Marshall of the Imperial Time Battalions, stared out of the mirror to lock her gaze with the Lady Romanadvoraterlundar. They were in agreement that the coronation robes fit perfectly.

To Romana's right Teyamat, the old mother of Madronal, concurred. Her broad smile and twinkling eyes communicated her silent approval. There was no doubt on her face that Romana and Pengallia were as one.

Romana dipped forward slightly to allow one of the attendant monks to slip the silver sash of office, inlaid with the glittering seals of Demos, Patrex, Dvora and Rassilon, over her head. The seals, like the devouring hounds motif etched into her breastplate, were picked out with violet gemstones which matched the shimmering folds of heliotrope which flowed from beneath her armour. As Teyamat added the final touch – the hitching of the Queen's twin swords to her girdle, she considered just how well the clothes had aged. Two million years old and they still looked, and felt, fashionable.

"Well?" asked the old crone.

"Impressive," she noted, rubbing at her ankles. "But I hope we don't have too far to walk. These grieves are chafing."

Teyamat smiled, remembering that Pengallia had said the same thing. She ushered Romana towards the door.

"You've been to the Shrine of Pengallia before," said Teyamat. "It's where we summoned you and your TARDIS."

"It is? But that's about three kilometres! I can't walk that far in this costume."

"It's alright, Romana," said Teyamat. "We can use the abbot's paternoster."

"Paternoster?" Romana snorted as she was led towards the lift. "You mean to tell me you do have a lift after all?"

Teyamat's cackling laughter echoed through the upper reaches of the Monastery.


	8. Book One Chapter Seven

Seven 

The Doctor was a strange character, thought Nard, and not a native to Rendulix. Setting down his drink, the boy withdrew a pocket-quill and notepad, and proceeded to scribble down a message for the Commander.

"Faran," he slid the note across the bar, "can you do me a favour? Get this to the Sheriff urgently." Nard jerked his thumb towards the exit, through which the Doctor had disappeared, "I'm going to follow him."

"Are you sure?" Faranberth was concerned, but took the note. "He seems a little… unbalanced."

"He's disoriented," said Nard. "I think his babbling means he's only just been borne."

"Right. You'd best get going then. Ulfar…" Faranberth called to another customer as Nard hastened from the inn. As he reached the exit, he spotted the Doctor on the other side of the road, heading towards the city gate. He appeared to be staggering.

"Bloody useless beer," muttered the Doctor. More than half a dozen pints in as many minutes and the fermented sugars were having little effect. If anything, the Doctor felt more rather than less alert. The high mineral content of the ale seemed to be a greater stimulant than the alcohol content was proving to be a relaxant.

The Oculus shone high over the mountain, and was at last shedding the brilliant white light of a blazing sun. For an hour or two, at least, the Doctor could take full advantage of some proper daylight.

Passing through the gate and beyond the city walls, the Doctor found himself on a hard path which bore the fresh imprint of hooves, which he estimated had been left only a few hours earlier. Following them backwards he began to retrace the journey which had brought him to the city.

While Teyamat was running their guest through the investiture rehearsal, the abbot and Brother G'thon paid a visit to the reliquary. Set amongst the darkest, deepest recesses of the mountain, it was a small, stone-hewn chamber, not served by the reflected light of the Oculus.

"Do you think she is Our Lady, G'thon?" Gesar asked, manipulating the stone locking mechanism, which protected the relics within from prying eyes.

_I sensed no duplicity from her. She seems genuinely bewildered by recent events._

"Hmm," the abbot said, gently easing the chamber door open. Stone grated against stone as he pushed. "It would help if I trusted Teyamat more, I suppose."

_The Old Mother? Why would you question her motives?_

"Teyamat has been here since the beginning, and those long sleeps of hers seem to have preserved her first body beyond the entire lifespans of many brothers. And she remembers so much more than we do."

G'thon nodded, flushing his features with phosphorescent pigment as they entered the chamber. He cast an eerie glow bright enough to be reflected by the off-white bone from the countless humanoid skulls that lined the chamber's walls. There were thousands upon thousands of them, peering through eyeless sockets back at the two priests, who picked their way carefully through the ossuary.

You think our purpose has changed, and that Teyamat follows an agenda that is no longer known to us?

"Perhaps."

It was rare for Gesar to visit the reliquary. A dozen weathered battlesuits, half-buried among the skulls, cast dark shadows over the walls, a remnant of those warriors whose mortal remains first graced the chamber. The original Honour Guard.

At the far end of the chamber, G'thon was clearing skulls away from a solid metal casket about a metre square. Inscribed with prayers and dedications, it bore the crest of mammoth rampant, the animal totem of Kaydengarde, foremost of the Martial Houses.

Taking an end each, Gesar and G'thon prised the casket open, revealing the bejewelled skulls of the battlesuits' former occupants. As physical, and later spiritual protectors of the Silver Queen, it would be their silent duty to guard the twelve points of the great circle throughout the impending ceremony.

_Teyamat is unlike us, abbot,_ thought G'thon, _but she is loyal to Our Lady._ _It is our first duty to enforce the will of Pengallia. _

"Enforce?" Gesar laughed sadly, lifting the skulls one by one and passing them to G'thon. "It's been a long time since the Madronites were warrior monks, G'thon. Our first duty is to preserve the Order she created, and we have been doing that for longer than any of us can remember. Did you know I have to read my own journals to preserve my memories of the past?"

_It's no better for me. _G'thon carefully took the skulls from the abbot, wrapping each in rags before lowering them gently into a padded muslin sack. _All I_ _have is my link to the collective._

"It's different for you. You're newborne. You've never had memories of your origins."

Placing the last skull into the sack, G'thon pulled on the drawstring, gently lifting the precious cargo over his shoulder.

_The collective provides me with race memories_.

"Yes, and I don't envy you. At least when you transform you'll be able to have private thoughts."

G'thon considered. His telepathy was often a curse to those around him, but he wasn't sure if he was quite ready to think in silence. It would take some getting used to.

_I have a few centuries to prepare, at least_.

Gesar sighed. G'thon had been a recent initiate, and he still wasn't completely relaxed around humans. Since the vigilante attacks, the k'thellid intake had slowed considerably, and it would soon be taking its toll on the population.

_You are thinking of the sleepers?_ G'thon was referring to the bodies Romana had discovered, and to a number of similar ones scattered throughout the monastery.

"Yes." Gesar agreed. "It feels like we're under siege. They need to be reborn. They won't stay fresh for much longer."

Paternosters weren't a new experience for Romana. For as long as the Chapter Colleges had been served by the noble Houses, the more leisurely technology of the humble paternoster had ensured that the near-instantaneous transmat did not supplant it as Gallifrey's most common mode of transport.

As its cubicles scrolled upwards, Romana and Teyamat stepped into the paternoster, which carried them up, across and down. The mountain rock swished gently past as they descended. Its pace was still leisurely, but compared to the long, spiralling walks she had experienced thus far, Romana considered their journey to be immeasurably quicker.

"So what's your plan?" Romana asked. "Is this some kind of dress rehearsal?"

Teyamat nodded. "Of sorts," she added, cryptically. "You have your script?"

Romana held up the leaflet in confirmation.

"Good."

At regular intervals numbers, painted on the walls of the paternoster shaft, counted down through the many levels, whose corridor spaces were interspersed between them. As they neared their destination, Teyamat took a firm grip upon the Romana's hand, her grip ready to communicate the precise moment for them to disembark. As they stepped out into the correct corridor, Teyamat let out a small whoop of glee.

"It's been ages since I did that," she said.

Romana arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "So where have you been?"

"Meditating," said Teyamat. "Travelling the astral plane."

"And did you find anything while you were there?"

"Yes," the old crone grinned, placing a hand on Romana's shoulder, causing her to flinch. "I found your TARDIS, and I found you."

Sensing the Gallifreyan's unease, Teyamat drew back, reaching into the folds of her robe. "Here," she aid, pulling out a pair of the smooth mirror-masks. She offered one to Romana. "Put this on."

Romana slipped the mask over her face, its polarised surface filtering out much of the light scattered through the corridor. Teyamat then ushered her into the shrine, where brilliant reflected light of the Oculus shone brighter, and stronger, than before. It was yellow, like that of a normal sun.

Upon entering the chamber, Romana saw the TARDIS was still where it had been summoned, and that the room positively glowed with an overabundance of light. Even with the mirror-mask Romana had to squint before she could make out the blurred outline of the altar and the large archaic circle that was inscribed into the floor.

"Is anybody else joining us for this?" Romana asked.

A large click followed as Teyamat closed the chamber door and locked it from the inside. This startled Romana. The sense of mild unease she felt around the old woman was growing.

"What's going on?"

"A slight change of plan, my Lady."

Crossing over to the altar, Teyamat ascended three short steps. Reaching down, she lifted a small object from the altar. It was a remote control of some kind, and moments later the brilliance of the light dimmed, and the giant mirror slipped out of alignment, sliding sideways to reveal a circular pit three metres wide by two deep.

At the heart of the pit sat a large metal sarcophagus, and upon it lay the sculpted form of the Silver Queen.

"Behold," said Teyamat, "the Tomb of Pengallia."

With the wet bog up to his knees, the Doctor busied his mind by whistling the tune to a thousand green bottles. He was making slow progress towards the forest, and was grateful at least that he was wearing his boots rather than his old brogues. With the city well behind him, the Doctor's route was entirely determined by the deep impressions of hooves, which had welled up with boggy water.

A few hundred yards behind, Nard also picked his way across the bog, keeping the curly top of the Doctor's head within range as he noticed that the stranger appeared to be following the hoofprints left by the Honour Guard. So there was method to his madness after all.

Statistically speaking, Sheriff Aldus could count upon the loyalty of between ten and twenty percent of the population. Besides the dozen active members of the Guard there were their kith, who were largely supportive, plus the sponsors, and, of course, the spotters. Recruited from among the closest homes to the city's edge, the spotters were the Honour Guard of the future, recently borne and keen both to prove their mettle and to earn the trust of the Lord Commander. One such spotter was young Nard, whose hastily scrawled message had just reached the Sheriff. Another such spotter was young Thuvis, a scrawny ginger-haired lad whose shortness of breath indicated that the news he brought from the edge of the city was fresh.

"Well?" Aldus asked.

"I saw menks, Commander, moving out from the shanty town and heading towards the forest."

"After light break?" Aldus was confused. The m'n'ch'k were active during the twilight cycle, but it was practically unheard of for the nocturnal k'thellid to ride them when the Oculus was visible. "Are you sure you saw mounts _and_ riders?"

Thuvis nodded vigorously. "Three of them."

He was a good lad, but he lived in fear of the Sheriff since he had been caught scavenging in a recently vacated lodging-house. Aldus was in no doubt that he was telling the truth. Tipping the lad with one of his home-baked savoury breadsticks, he dismissed the boy and turned to Malthus.

"Well, Sergeant," he said, "it looks like we've forced their tentacle."

Malthus laughed. "They must be desperate. But why?"

It was a question that had plagued them since the early days. The monks alone knew why their ancient enemies would leave the safety of their watery empire to travel to the top of the mountain, cycle after cycle. There were theories, that perhaps the monks and menks were in league with each other, or that maybe they were making pilgrimage to an ancient shrine deep in the mountain. But none of the newborne that came down from the mountain had ever retained any memory of their time there.

"Why doesn't matter, Sergeant. What matters is that we stop them."

"But we can't ride out in the light, Aldus."

"This says otherwise," said the Sheriff, holding up the note from Nard. "We can't go as the Honour Guard, but I have every reason to see what the Doctor is up to. Round up a couple of the regulars, we're off to visit a crime scene."

As Gesar and G'thon carried their cargo to the paternosters, the k'thellid brother paused for a moment. He raised his hand to his head, and blushed slightly.

"What is it, G'thon?"

_The Protector._ There was a pause. _He's communicating with the k'thellid._

"What does he say?"

There are k'thellid in the forest, on their way here.

"That's great news, but…," the abbot paused, considering the consequences of k'thellid excursions during the orange shift, "during the twilight cycle?"

The k'thellid were a species used to living in darkness, their only use for light as a means of communicating with other species not sophisticated enough to respond to psychotronic broadcasts. Indeed, before the arrival of the fallen, K'thellid had been an unlit world whose hollow interior had never felt the direct touch of sunlight. While they could tolerate the invisible spectrum, visible light was uncomfortable to their natural form.

It was considered necessary, thought G'thon, but they have been discovered.

"Discovered? By the Guard?" Gesar was uncertain of what to suggest. He could dispatch several of the monks, but they would be unlikely to arrive before…

No. By the Doctor.

The Doctor? "Romana's colleague?"

G'thon nodded. They have been instructed to seek him out…to help him.

"Help him?"

He is not considered hostile.

Gesar's thought radiated concern. The Doctor was a Time Lord, an ancient enemy of the k'thellid, just as the fallen had once been. It wasn't the response he had expected. "I trust the Protector knows what he's doing."

"Doctor, what are you doing?"

Nard caught up with the Time Lord at the edge of the forest. The Oculus had moved into the orange shift, heralding the second half of the cycle, and shedding a warm sleepy glow across Rendulix.

The Doctor turned, his face dark and moody. "I should ask the same of you," he snapped. "I didn't ask for you to follow."

Conscious that he might reveal his purpose, Nard tried a gentler approach. "I was… concerned. You looked like you were in shock."

"Yes, well," the Doctor's features softened, but not much, "I'm just missing my dog."

"Your dog?" Nard had never heard of such a thing.

"Yes. We got separated last night, and I'm worried."

"What is a dog, exactly?"

The Doctor smiled reflectively. "I find myself asking that of K9 quite a lot. Any other dog would love this many trees."

"I don't understand."

The Doctor turned back towards the forest, drawing a small object from his pocket. "That's what you're here for." Placing the object – a whistle – to his lips, the Doctor blew three times, but no sound appeared to follow. "Look," said the Doctor, still a little distracted, "I'll explain later."

The Doctor set off into the forest at a pace which Nard struggled to keep up with. Long purposeful strides soon brought them to a small clearing, where the Doctor stopped. Moving over to a patch of ground, the Doctor crouched, examining it carefully.

"That's odd," he said.

"What?"

"This is where K9 and I…" the Doctor's voice trailed off. There were tracks which suggested that K9 had been able to leave under his own power, heading off towards the city.

"What are you doing?" Nard had been intrigued by the Doctor's behaviour.

"K9 – my dog – was in no condition to go anywhere," he said, "and neither were…"

A few yards away, where the ambushed m'n'ch'k and its rider had been, there was now a small mound of freshly disturbed earth. They had been buried. The Doctor's eyes darted around the edges of the clearing, looking for more clues.

"K9…" the doctor whispered, blowing into his whistle again.

Silence.

"K9?" The Doctor shouted into the trees. Moments later they could hear a faint rustling.

"What was that?" Nard asked, straining his ears. The undergrowth rustled again, but this time it was accompanied by the unmistakable clickety-clack of chitinous feet scuttling across the hard ground.

"Menks!"

"What?" The Doctor's expression darkened once more. "Oh no," he mouthed to himself, as the first glint of orange light reflecting from the jewelled shell of a m'n'ch'k as it entered the clearing. Three of the mounts sidled into view, bringing the Doctor eye-to-tentacle with their riders: the k'thellid.

The Doctor made a break, running towards the treeline in the direction of the TARDIS' landing site. He didn't look back.

"Doctor?" Nard was rooted to the spot as his worst nightmare became reality. "Doctor, stay here!" He pleaded. But the Doctor paid no heed as the three m'n'ch'k surrounded him, closing off his own escape.

"Come back," he whimpered, bracing himself for the creatures' attack.

"Doctor!"

A soft orange glow filled Pengallia's tomb, making the silver sarcophagus at its heart shine like gold. Set in a roughly carved depression where long-faded glyphs had been etched into the stone sides, the rectangular coffin rested upon a circular dais. Inlaid with ornate Gallifreyan scroll-work, it was topped with a statue of Pengallia in repose. The resting form represented her as a military leader, fully armoured in a decorous battlesuit. Her armoured fists clutched a large ceremonial sword. Framed by the curls of her long hair, Romana was again reminded that Pengallia's regal features were easily recognisable as her own.

Under the shadow of the TARDIS, which stood on the opposite side of the pit, Teyamat set aside her mirror-mask and descended into the depression. Within moments her hands had settled upon the thin crown that rested on top of the statue's head.

"What are you doing?" Romana asked as the old crone unfastened the crown, revealing it to be a separate adornment to the rest of the statuary.

"You still have your script?" The old woman was flashing yet another of

those disturbing smiles that she seemed to reserve exclusively for Romana. who waved her papers.

"Yes." The Time Lady waved her papers. "But, what…?"

"I wanted you to see, Romana. I want you to understand."

"Understand what?"

Stepping out of the depression, Teyamat stretched her arms wide, drawing attention to the chamber. "This tomb," she said, "it's not Pengallia's final resting place."

Romana was confused. "It's not?"

"No," continued the crone, walking over to rejoin Romana. "She left us, and I've been looking for her ever since. That sarcophagus is all that remains of the greatest time ship ever constructed."

"Timeship?" Romana regarded the coffin. "That thing's a TARDIS?"

"_Was_ a TARDIS," Teyamat corrected. "Now it's her eternal prison."

"Was?"

Teyamat continued to explain. "This chamber is where Pengallia left us, promising that one day she would return."

"And what part does the Ceremony of Investiture have to play?"

"None," said Teyamat. "It's just an old pantomime designed to ensure that anyone claiming to be Pengallia gets access to this." She held up he crown.

"Her crown?"

"This is more than just a Royal Crown, Romana. It's a dynatropic lattice. When Pengallia left us, she downloaded her memories into it. Memories that can only be accessed by someone with the same biodata. You."

"Come on then, you bastards!" Nard scrunched up his eyes and braced himself for an attack, which never came. The k'thellid ignore him. Opening first one eye, and then the next, he saw the creatures scuttling away from him, focused instead on their pursuit of the Doctor. Cautiously, he started to follow them, picking his way through the trees as they began to close in on their prey.

Several metres ahead, the Doctor plunged forward, regardless of the obstacles in his patch. Pushing his way through the grey-green tree-stalks, he pressed on towards the TARDIS with barely a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, the click-click of pereaopods told him of the m'n'ch'k's hasty pursuit. Breaking through into another clearing, the Doctor passed the marker stone and continued on. Moments later it played silent witness to the Doctor's pursuers, and several more moments later to Nard.

The boy paused before the monolith. He'd not seen its like before, and his fingers played across its cold stone surface. It stood cold, and silent.

"Doctor?" The click-clack of the creatures ahead of him reminded Nard that the stranger was in danger. Nard resumed his pursuit even as the Doctor reached his destination.

As the sound of the m'nch'k's drew closer, the Doctor stared down at the small square of displaced ground, which parked the place where the TARDIS had stood. It was empty.

With a heaving sigh the Doctor looked back over his shoulder, catching the tell-tale glint of the oncoming crab-mounts.

Beaten, he sank to his knees.

With their precious cargo of martyr's skulls, Gesar and G'thon arrived outside the shrine.

"Hang on," said Gesar, adjusting their load, "we need to get this door open."

Reaching for the opening mechanism, the abbot found that the door wouldn't budge.

_What's wrong?_ G'thon asked.

"It's locked."

_Locked? Why would that be?_

Pressing his ear to the door, the abbot could hear voices. "Teyamat and Romana are inside. They must be rehearsing.

_But why lock the door?_

"Quite," agreed Gesar, hammering on the solid stone. "Teyamat? It's Gesar!"

"Open up!" The sound of the abbot hammering on the door was captured and amplified by the room's catacoustics.

"Quickly, take off your mask and put this on." Teyamat offered up the crown.

Reluctantly, Romana accepted the offering, turning the object around in her hands. It was a familiar design, lighter and more feminine, perhaps, but it was clearly based upon the one of the Great Artifacts – the Coronet of Rassilon.

"Why now?" She asked. "Why not wait until the Ceremony?"

"Because if you aren't Pengallia," said Teyamat, "I need to know sooner rather than later. You've seen what this planet has become. If you turn out to be a fraud, what do you think will happen?"

Romana considered. She was certain that there must be a connection between her and the Silver Queen, but the whole thing could just be coincidental

"I don't know," she replied. "What will they do to me?"

"You?" Teyamat sneered. "It's them I'm worried about. You're their last hope, and if you aren't Pengallia, we're going to have to fake it."

So, even Teyamat wasn't a hundred per cent certain that Romana was the Scion of Pengallia. Things could still go horribly wrong.

"Why would we have to fake it?"

"Because those are my orders."

"Orders? Whose orders."

"The Queen's. Now put the crown on, before the abbot works out how to open that door."

"Alright."

Romana raised the crown to her head, gently lowering it into place. Where the cold metal made contact with her forehead, the skin began to tingle, and a burning sensation encircled her head as it were surrounded by a ring of fire. Her vision blurred and her ears began to ring with a kind of tinnitus which quickly resolved itself into more discernable sounds, while her mind's eye began to make similar sense of new visual stimuli.

"Oh my…" she said. Pengallia's life began to flash before Romana's eyes.

The three mounted k'thellid had ringed the kneeling Doctor when Nard reached them. Keeping hidden, he watched with fascination as one of the k'thellid began to pulse with various colours. It was establishing contact with the collective.

_We have found the Doctor._ It thought. _He does not appear to be in any danger._

_Excellent._ It was another mind, one of the k'thellid counsellors. It was relaying the Protector's interactions. _Touch his mind. Help him to understand us._

Nard watched as the lead k'thellid extended its tentacles. Its cranium flushed scarlet as its mind reached out to make contact with the Doctor.

The Doctor's eyes were wide open, but the pupils were rolled back into his head as he concentrated his efforts away from the world surrounding him. His awareness of reality faded as he found himself kneeling upon a familiar cobbled path. His memories scattered in all directions like startled gazelles as he turned, finding himself staring up at a dream analogue of the tychomnemonic array. This time, the vevers burned with dark fire. At the heart of the stone was a key.

The key turned its way through four quarters until the lock clicked. The sound of stone grinding against stone echoed as the Doctor saw the _vevers_ rotate, creating a new pattern which, in turn, burned new memories into the darkest recesses of his time brain.

_Doctor? _He felt the mind of a nearby k'thellid reaching out for him, its gentle psychic caress touching the outermost parts of his mind.

_No, stay away from me._ He willed. _Don't probe my mind. You don't understand._

The k'thellid mind reassured him. _It's alright Doctor, we mean you no harm._

As the voice of the k'thellid echoed through his mind, the whites of the Doctor's eyes darkened until they were like black coals. They burned with energy.

"Nooooooooooo!" The Doctor's mind and voice screamed out as one.

Hidden in the trees, Nard saw great gouts of black fire burst forth from the Doctor's eyes to envelop the startled k'thellid.


	9. Interlude

**Interlude **

_In another place, and another time, Pengallia was undergoing the first ritual of investiture. She lay in the centre of the Infinity Chamber, at the very heart of the Temple of Eternity. As priests milled around her, making her ready, she stared up at the great holographic orrery, which circled overhead. Within it, the twin suns of Kasterborus, one large and yellow, the other small and red, danced around each other as they had for the last five billion years._

_Within the ritual, the orrery served to tell the future Queen of her place in the universe. At a safe distance, the five planets joined the cosmic dance. Closest to the twins sat Kaster, which lay just a hundred million kilometres from the mid-point between the suns._

_At a hundred and fifty million kilometres, where Gallifrey, second of the five planets, should have been, there was nothing. The Time Lords had changed the nature of the universe when the time wars began, desperate to save themselves from the ravages of history. In this regard, the orrery served not just a navigational function, but also a political one. Rendulix, the homeworld, as it was also known, had entered into the realm of legends._

_Demos, the world on which Pengallia had been born, and where she now lay awaiting royal ascension, orbited at a distance of roughly two hundred million kilometres. Six thousand miles in diameter and circled by three small moons, Bern, Falin, and Kirros._

_At a distance of almost eight hundred million kilometres lay Polarfrey, the White Giant, the coldest and brightest planet in the sky._

_Out beyond Polarfrey, the great ice ring circled the system, and beyond that lay the smallest and remotest of the five planets, Karn, the dark sister. It was a world well known to Pengallia, who had lived there most of her adult life, renouncing her position within the Sisterhood of the Flame to return and claim the Royal Crown._

_Some three billion kilometres beyond the centre of the system, Karn was lit by a strange and magical phenomenon. This light, known as the Great Veil or the Kasterborus Borealis, bounded the outer edges of the system and, in ancient times, had been regarded as the great barrier beyond which the rest of the universe lay._

_The image of the borealis almost touched the walls of the chamber, its light illuminating the ancient inscriptions carved by the priests of past generations, servants and advocates to the legendary Kings and Queens of Demos._

_Beneath the orrery, a pair of mirror-masked priests attended Pengallia. One wore shimmering robes that reflected the colours of a rainbow, and the other dressed in shifting shades of silver and grey. They symbolised the gods Cacophony, bringer of chaos, and Time, giver of order. She lay, naked, upon a raised diorite plinth, her pale flesh reflecting the light of a dozen flickering torches, which lined the chamber. Forming a circle around her, five other masked priests stood silently, observing in silence as the ritual progressed. Each wore the livery of a different god, black for Eternity, gold for Light, green for Life, crimson for Pain, and purple for Distraction._

_On each side of Pengallia's head lay a bowl containing oils and unguents prepared for her annointment. Using ladles, Cacophony and Time gently poured the salve over her naked body, applying it from head to toe. The carefully massaged and kneaded them into her skin, ritually purged her ephemeral nature, remoulding her in the image of the gods themselves, opening her energy centres and changing her perception of reality as the mixture soaked into her pores._

_Next came the ritual garments. The two priests clothed her in a long jewel-encrusted silk dress of heliotrope and antimony. This was followed by a jointed silver breastplate adorned with the hounds rampant, the same as has once been worn by the ancient Kings and Queens of Demos. The hounds had been adopted as the totem of her forefathers, and Pengallia remembered the tale of Dvora, the greatest warrior-king in Demosian history, and of his legendary encounter with the devouring hounds. She also remembered that the story must be re-enacted by each newly crowned King or Queen as the final test of their legitimacy. It was a challenge she had yet to face._

_At this point, all seven priests joined the ritual, slipping placed silver bracelets on her wrists and upper arms, fastening intricate chains and brooches to her robes, and an ornate collar, encrusted with finely engraved sapphires and diamonds, round her neck. Finally, they attached silver greaves to her ankles, and slipped a pair of jewelled sandals on her feet._

_"Are you ready to embrace your responsibilities?" asked Cacophony._

_"I am."_

_Five god-priests stepped back, leaving Cacophony and Time to raise Pengallia up and lead her into another chamber. It was a larger room, prepared for the audience of senior aristocrats and court officials who already filled its tiered galleries. At the heart of the chamber stood a great throne. Carved from similar black diorite to the plinth in the Infinity Chamber, but etched with ancient images and symbols, and inlaid with precious metals which picked out the details. The sashes of office lay on a raised stone table beside the throne._

_Between Pengallia and the throne stood an eighth masked god-priest wearing the white livery of Death. Stepping aside, Time allowed the god-sisters Cacophony and Death to hug, greeting each other as a reminder that, in spite of their history of conflict, the principles that the gods represented would have to be embodied in a single vessel: the Silver Queen._

_Time escorted Pengallia to the throne, gesturing for her to be seated before standing to her right. Cacophony and Death moved to her left, where the sashes lay._

_Cacophony raised the silver sash of Demos, interlaced with dragon motifs that encircled the seals of Demos and Dvora, and placed it over Pengallia' head. Death overlaid it with the golden sash of Rendulix, similarly interlaced with ancient Gallifreyan scrollwork around the seals of Patrex and Rassilon. The symbolic union of the four seals was quickly made reality as a dull burst of white light flared and the sashes made contact with each other. Physically merging into a single object, the combined sash represented the bond between the two worlds._

_"The Traditions of State and Empire are embodied within you," declared Time. "You are ready to rule the third world and unify the five. You will be the fire reeds of Demos and the crucible of Rendulix; your will shall make the Empire safe."_

_"You alone will be able to separate the Double Sash," revealed Death._

_"But to break it is to renounce destiny itself."_

_Cacophony and Death bestowed Pengallia with the symbols of her power, the staff and the twin swords. The staff, once a relic of the great Pythias of Gallifrey, was called 'Apothelis'. Its purpose was to heal, and it was a symbol of peace and diplomatic resolution. The swords, 'Mershas' and 'Shermas', had once belonged to King Dvora himself. Their purpose was to unify through strength, and as such they had come to symbolise the fierce spirit of Demos, the only world to have joined the Gallifreyan Empire on its own terms, as an ally rather than a subject world._

_"It is time," said Time._

_The eight god-priests formed a line around Pengallia, leading her in a procession from the temple chambers along a narrow corridor. Within a dozen metres she had stepped out into the light._

_Beyond the Temple of Eternity was a huge inner courtyard surrounded by high walls and towers. It was filled with acolytes from several priestly orders including Bukolians, Dromeians, Eremites, Felsecans, and, of course, Madronites. In front of them, the privileged few invited to pass beyond the temple gates were gathered. Friends, peers, and diplomats cheered as the procession appeared, making its way towards a specially prepared platform. Hovering above the crowds, was a cluster of spherical tridee cameras, adjusting their relative positions to get the best images, recording the event for posterity, and for the greater glory of the public access channels._

_Beyond the gates stood the serried ranks of the Time Battalions, resplendent in their bright cloaks and glittering battlesuits, the last buffer between the Silver Queen and her subjects, who formed a great and noisy crowd in the distance. Overshadowing the event, under the great white shadow of the real Polarfrey, the Demosian Battlefleets lined the sky, row upon row of Class Four Lancers publicly parading their martial strength._

_Crossing the courtyard, Pengallia was led to a raised dais where a second throne awaited her. It was a simpler affair, sturdily built from imported cadonwood, modestly coated with metallic silver paint: Dvora's throne, that which the ancient King had used for official ceremonies. Waiting at its right hand side stood Pengallia's appointed counsel, Teyamat of Karn. Despite her youth, Teyamat had been initiated as a High Priestess of the Sisterhood, and her role within the ceremony was to ensure that Pengallia's reign was legitimate in the eyes of those who followed the old ways. She gave a low bow as her new mistress came closer._

_"May your Majesty rise like the morning suns and take her place at the seat of power."_

_Nodding in acknowledgement, Pengallia took to the throne as the god-priests of the menti celesti formed a crescent circle behind her. Above them, the tridee spheres jostled for the best vantagepoint, while Teyamat produced a small metal box._

_"This is the testament of the gods given to the Dvora. As it legitimised his reign, so it will yours, so will it your successor's." Teyamat carefully opened the box, and lifted out an ancient scroll written in the 21st Pythia's own hand, at the dawn of civilisation, declaring Dvora to be the heir to Demos._

_Pengallia accepted the scroll, with a bow of her own._

_"Here," continued Teyamat, passing over the short silver rod which bore Pengallia's royal seal, "are your thirteen sovereign titles. Majestrix of Demos, Beloved of Eternity, Fist of Rassilon, Exarch of Madron, Kithriarch of Dvora, Protector of the Empire, Steward of the Five Planets, She-Who-Binds-and-Conquers, Grand Marshall of the Imperial Time Battalions, Chosen of the Menti Celesti, Powerful in Her Rule, Great in Her Counsel, Pengalliadvoramiel: The Silver Queen."_

_Cheering rose from beyond the temple courtyard as Pengallia accepted the rod._

_"And here," said Teyamat, revealing a slim silver circlet, "is the confirmation of your sovereignty, the royal crown which represents your compact with the people of Demos. The Powers of State and Empire are united in you. You rule the third world and unify the five. You are the fire reeds of Demos and the crucible of Rendulix; you make the Empire safe."_

_"You alone will be able to wear the crown," said Teyamat, lowering the coronet down on Pengallia's head, "for to renounce it is to break your sacred bond with your people."_

_The cheers raised to a crescendo as the ceremony ended and Teyamat resumed her place at the Queen's right hand. In the sky the Battlefleet was joined by light shows and fireworks as Pengallia prepared to receive her first petition._

_A shape emerged from the crowd of guests, dressed in a full suit of golden armour that copied the style of ceremonial dress amongst his people, with a great wing-like collar accentuating and distorting the shape of his shoulders, and a great golden cloak surrounding him. The Time Lord ascended the platform, and knelt before the new Queen._

_"Governor Proteus," she acknowledged._

_"It's Ambassador Proteus now, Majestrix. The Royal House of Dvora is restored as sovereign to Demos."_

_"Of course," she smiled. It was a little soon for her to be forgetting that particular fact._

_"I bring word from President Pandak. As First Earl of Patrex, he extends a personal offer to the new Kithriarch of House Dvora."_

_"Kithriarch?" While technically correct, this particular title was pretty much redundant, and Pengallia wasn't entirely happy to be reminded of it, "I'm the last of my line, Proteus. We waited aeons to recover the crown, and thanks to Rassilon and his age of reason, I'll not be producing heirs any time soon."_

_Proteus nodded. "Rassilon is a spent force, Majestrix. Pandak offers you a future."_

_Rumours of Rassilon's enforced retirement had been kept in check beyond the Capitol, but Proteus was using words that might suggest a sea change in Time Lord policy._

_"What kind of future?"_

_"A seat on the High Council, the Patronage of the Patrexes, and a Chapterhouse Loom."_

_A Chapterhouse Loom? Pengallia was intrigued. Demos was the only world allowed access to looming technology outside of Gallifrey, largely as a means of populating the Time Battalions, but it was the most basic of models which offered little more than the straight cloning of Demosian Warriors. A Chapterhouse Loom, on the other hand, would have been programmed with the many genetic enhancements introduced into modern Time Lord society. Such an offer was unheard of._

_"Explain this offer in more detail, Proteus."_

_"Pandak wants House Dvora to join the Great Houses of Gallifrey. To bring new blood into Time Lord society."_

_"So Gallifrey offering to share power with its allies again?" Her royal suspicion was aroused. "What must I give in return for this great honour?"_

_"The President asks two things. First, Demos must continue to support the war…"_

_"Demos has no choice but to support it," Pengallia interjected. "Since Gallifrey withdrew from the universe at the start of this war Demos has been the Heart of the Empire. You may have been our Governor, but it was the Generals of Demos who forged new alliances and orchestrated your victories; it was the Time Battalions of Demos who crewed your battlefleets and annihilated your enemies. We may have restored our sovereignty, but our commitment hasn't faltered."_

_"That is heartening to hear, your Majesty."_

_"What is the second requirement?"_

_There was a pause. Proteus, if not President Pandak, had a good idea of Pengallia's political views, and was clearly concerned that the second condition would be unacceptable._

_"Let the Empire go."_

_Pengallia was dumbstruck by the request, which struck at the very heart of Demosian culture. The idea of Gallifrey as Rendulix, the Heart of the Empire, was a symbolic necessity._

_"What?" It was all she could manage._

_"It's an unsustainable dream, Majestrix. The Empire hasn't functioned since the wars began, and in the current climate we can hardly justify it."_

_So Gallifrey didn't want an Empire any more. The war was taking its toll. They lacked leadership._

_"The Empire is more than just a dream, Proteus. It's a vital part of our philosophy. Tradition, obedience, honour, understanding, loyalty, and respect. A hundred colonies and a thousand affiliated worlds have followed those principles for millions of years. Lord Rassilon understood that."_

_"And now he is gone. President Pandak and the High Council believe it is time to consolidate. These wars have too many fronts, and too many lives are being lost in the name of the Time Lords."_

_"And for that reason alone," said Pengallia, "I'll accept the offer."_

_"You will?"_

_It was the ambassador's turn to be dumbstruck, but Pengallia had realised that Pandak's offer gave the Empire hope. With a seat on the High Council and full access to the Capitol, the Silver Queen could influence, persuade, and perhaps even challenge this new perspective. And Pandak was offering her the position of power, which she could use to her advantage._

_"Yes," Pengallia nodded, "but I have a condition of my own. Rather than support the war, I propose that Demos shall lead it. Rassilon understood the need for pre-emptive action, but since he's gone your people have lacked the killer instinct. Pandak's prevarication has started losing him this war, and it's time the tide was turned."_

_Proteus paused, considering the offer. It was more than the President could have expected._

_"I think those terms are acceptable," he said._


	10. Book Two Chapter Eight

**Book Two – King of Pain  
Eight**

The sun blinked, and its orange light began to mellow, shifting into the red end of the spectrum like a bloodshot, wounded eye. Shadows shifted across the island as the ground cooled and the still air began to shift. The background noise from insects and other creatures rose as the sky turned slowly pink and the ground-hugging mists began to rise, joining thin, high clouds that cast dark shadows over the landscape, as if some spectral hand was reaching across the sky.

* * *

As the light shifted, a warm red glow filled Pengallia's tomb, and Teyamat started. The phase of the sun had shifted far too quickly, as if time itself were accelerated. Across the room, a new light source appeared, cutting into the blood orange glow like a lighthouse beacon through thick fog. It was Romana's TARDIS. The strange lamp fitted to the top of the blue box had come to life, and the inner glow of the ship's power was clearly visible through its frosted windows, and the air around it was becoming charged. The old crone could smell the ozone.

"Romana?" Teyamat extended her mind. The Time Lord remained stationary, her eyes closed as the memories of her past life continued to form inside her hippocampus. Through the briefest of contact she was reassured that Pengallia's first experiences as a Time Lord Cardinal were imprinting themselves into Romana's long term memory.

Turning her attention towards the TARDIS, Teyamat reached out to shut down its systems. As her mind made contact, she was unprepared for the wave of psychic feedback it triggered.

Teyamat collapsed into unconsciousness.

Moments later, the charge building around the TARDIS began to crackle with dark, malevolent energy. Flickers of black lightning danced around the room, each bolt more powerful than the last, their points of impact leaving small smoking holes in the floor and the walls.

Across the chamber, Romana's visions stuttered and stalled. Consciousness returned, and she looked about her. She saw the darkening red shaft of light flooding the room; the heavy door still being subjected to the pounding of Gesar's fists; the shining sarcophagus at the centre of the tomb; Teyamat's prone form beside the altar; and the flashing lights and bolts of energy coming from the TARDIS.

In that instant of realization, Romana felt a wave of energy wash over her as the TARDIS seemed to explode in a ball of black light. She was unconscious before she could feel herself flung across the chamber and smashed into the wall, and before she could see that the ball of energy was a great bolt of black lightning which lanced upwards through the point of least resistance. Like a javelin the black lightning traveled along the light-shaft, heading straight towards the heart of K'thellid's artificial sun.

* * *

High above Mount Madronal, twin arcs of black lightning streaked across the sky. The first came from within the Oculus itself, shooting downwards like a javelin to a point somewhere deep within the forest below. The second flashed upwards from somewhere deep within the mountain, striking at the very heart of the Oculus, the precise point from which the first bolt had been projected. The twin arcs hung in the sky, forming an unholy triangle between sun, mountain, and forest.

* * *

As Gesar continued to hammer on the door to Pengallia's tomb, the scattered light of the Oculus flickered and dimmed. Already filled with dread at the shift from orange to red, the abbot was certain that the reason lay in the chamber beyond. Romana had somehow betrayed them.

_They are both unconscious_, thought G'thon beside him, releasing a phosphorescent aura of his own to replace the fading light until the torches set into the corridor walls could be ignited.

"Do you know what happened? What's happening?"

_No. But I sensed no malice in the Lady Romana in the moments before she passed out. There was an explosion of some kind._

Gesar paled. "An explosion? I heard nothing. What about the K'thellid?"

G'thon extended his mind to touch those of his kin at the foot of the mountain, and to those who served the Protector in the undercity's council-chambers, desperate to understand what was going on.

Gesar, meanwhile, renewed his efforts to open the door with his shoulder.

* * *

Thundercracks echoed across K'thellid as the fingers of black lightning continued to flicker downwards, cutting through the clouds and boring into the ground.

The darkening Oculus, looking more and more like a closing eye than a burning sun, turned opaque. Beneath it the clouds turned grey, then black. In just a few seconds, the world was plunged into darkness. Almost instantly, the sound of the insects ceased, and in the city of the fallen only the rattle of thunder and the gentle sound of the first raindrops in living memory, could be heard.

On his knees, the Doctor screamed in agony, his eyes burning with a dark and uncontrollable fire as dark clouds formed far overhead. Like G'thon, the mounted K'thellid adjusted the pallor of their skin to accommodate the encroaching darkness, emitting an eerie glow which scattered through the trees.

Still some distance away from the Doctor, Nard's view of the kneeling Doctor was enhanced by the flickering beams of phosphorescent light which surrounded him. But no amount of light could dim the black fire burning in the stranger's eyes. Somewhere up ahead, behind the Doctor, Nard could also see the black lightning that fell from the sky, burning into the ground over by the old marker stone he had stumbled across when he first came down from the mountain. There was no doubt in Nard's mind that the lighting and the fire in the Doctor's eyes were one and the same.

The marker stone was, in fact, the lightning's target. Its _vevers_ began to glow a brilliant red as the dark energy enveloping it was absorbed into the rock. As their brilliance increased in the real world, so too did the _vevers_ burn more brightly inside the Doctor's head. He knelt before the array, and felt the power bursting outwards from inside his mind. As the power levels rose the voices of the k'thellid, desperate for peaceful contact, faded from his consciousness.

* * *

_It's alright Doctor, we mean you no harm._

The explosion of black light from the Doctor's eyes forced Nard to look away, the white silhouette of three menks burned into his memory the instant before he closed his eyes. That instant had been their moment of death as their bodies turned to ash.

* * *

_It's alright Doctor, we mean you no harm._

The voice of the three k'thellid that G'thon had contacted was instantly replaced by a wall of psychic energy which overwhelmed him. Synaptic responses triggered and muscles started to tense and relax, but G'thon's head exploded in a cloud of phosphorescent light before his reflexes could kick in. The corridor was sprayed with a fine sparkling dust and a heavier, inky mist. Similarly, beneath his habit, the k'thellid's body erupted, throwing out a cloud of dark dust as his robes collapsed to the floor.

* * *

_It's alright Doctor, we mean you no harm._

The voice of the k'thellid, relayed into the Doctor's mind through K9's own exitonic circuits, was followed by a psychotronic blast which, according to the robot's visual sensors, was capable of delivering deadly force into the minds of his hosts. Even as the k'thellid counsellor who had been communicating the Protector's thoughts was consumed by the destructive power of the dark energy, K9 fused his exitonic circuit board, breaking his link with the Doctor.

As the fine dust created by the exploding counsellor settled, the silence which had settled upon the chamber was replaced by unholy screams of fear and the wholesale quivering of terrified tentacles.

_Carnifex!_

The thoughts of Protector K'thellid, itself recoiling with shock and fear, echoed throughout the undercity: _the Time Lords have returned; the day of judgement has arrived.

* * *

_

"G'thon!"

Gesar's efforts to enter the shrine were cut short by the sudden and unexpected demise of the abbot's most trusted associate. As the last motes of phosphorescent ash settled to the floor, the corridor became pitch black. With his worst fears coming to pass, Gesar crouched down beside his fallen friend, feeling for the empty robe which lay on the ground. Finding it, he raised it to his face, and wept.

* * *

Beyond the mountain, the Oculus was squinting. Its pale violet light glowed behind grey clouds, and a black storm raged overhead.

The pain inside the Doctor's head was fading, and his struggle to resist the power of the _vevers_ was easing. There were no more voices, and no more energies were being unleashed. Instead he could feel the reservoirs of his time brain filling up with latent power.

Slowly, his vision cleared, and the Doctor found himself staring at the carnage he had wrought. He was surrounded by a circle of charred ground, within which he could clearly see three calcified mounds, each of which formed the vague shape of a m'n'ch'k and its riders.

Eyes wide, the Doctor raised his hands to his face.

Nard stepped forwards through the purple twilight, moving to the Doctor's side.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor's eyes were staring vacantly into the distance, unaware of the young man's presence. The Demosian waved his hands across the stranger's face.

"Doctor? What happened?"

The kneeling Time Lord blinked twice, then turned to look up at Nard.

"Oh," he said neutrally. "It's you."

"Doctor…you killed them. You killed them all. What did you do?"

"As you say", the Doctor said, "I killed them."

"But…how?"

The Doctor hung his head, withdrawing into a moment of grief. A few seconds later, he turned, wild-eyed, and stared straight into the boy's soul.

"I'm a killing machine, Nard. A _carnifex_." He spat the word out.

"What's a carnifex?"

"A living weapon. My mind has just become a living battery, and it's fully charged."

Nard carefully backed away from the Doctor, whose haunted expression pleaded for compassion and understanding. Despite his hatred of the menks, Nard wasn't sure that he would be able to give either.

"It's alright," said the Doctor, "you're quite safe. The programming's very specific."

"Specific?"

"Yes," the Doctor explained, gesturing towards the forest. "There's a marker stone back there, and it was left here by the Time Lords. It programmed me to destroy every k'thellid my mind comes into contact with."

"Just k'thellid?" Nard's relief was visible, and he moved back towards the Doctor, offering his hand to help the stranger pull himself to his feet.

As their hands touched, the Doctor recoiled.

"Doctor?"

"No," the Time Lord staggered backwards, "not again". His eyes flared up with dark light once more.

A moment later Nard's calcified ashes lay at the Doctor's feet.

* * *

Romana's vision cleared as her return to consciousness revealed the abbot and Teyamat learning over her. She was propped against the chamber wall, and could feel a nasty egg-shaped lump on the back of her head.

"What happened?"

On closer inspection, Romana could see the abbot's face was tear-streaked, and that Teyamat looked even older and more weathered than before, if such a thing were possible. The chamber was darker than she remembered, filled with a dull violet glow, and flaming torches was been set into niches around the room.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Gesar, "and I expect you to tell me everything."

"She knows nothing," insisted Teyamat. "Would a spy plan to be smashed into a wall like that?"

Gesar sneered. "That's rich coming from you," he said, turning on the old woman. "You betrayed my trust, Teyamat."

"Rubbish. My loyalty, like yours, is to Our Lady. It's your judgement that has become clouded over the years."

"My judgement? Let me remind you, old mother, that it was you who brought Romana and her carnifex companion here, and that it was _that _TARDIS which attacked the Oculus. This planet is kept in a finely tuned state of equilibrium, and their presence is the greatest threat it's ever faced. Brother G'thon lies dead, the sky is dark, and the temperature outside is starting to rise."

"Wait," said Romana, uncertain of what the abbot was suggesting. "The TARDIS attacked your sun? How is that possible?"

Gesar turned back to Romana, a puzzled expression on his face. "You continue to plead ignorance, even now?"

"You mentioned a word," Romana continued. "_Carnifex_. It's from an old Gallifreyan rhyme."

"_The carnifex stands with black fire in his eyes; the smiter of monsters and render of lies. __When you are sleeping, he stands at your side, and fends off your nightmares before you arise"_

"Yes, very nice, I'm sure. But the carnifex is more than a fairy story. If you were unconscious when G'thon was killed, then I can only assume that your friend the Doctor has the power."

"The Doctor is a man of peace, Gesar. Even if he had such a power he wouldn't use it."

Gesar shook his head, pityingly. "Whatever your motives," he paused, "and I believe you have no knowledge of what is going on, you are a deception. An attempt to expose our existence so that the Doctor can track us down and destroy us."

* * *

At the foot of the vast k'thellid Protector, K9 attempted to attract its attention. The wails which echoed around the chamber had been joined by psychic ululations which the small robot was unable to decipher. The quivering of the great kraken's mountainous torso eased after a period of three point three seven minutes, and K9 took the opportunity to interject.

"The Doctor was not responsible for your loss," he began. In support of the claim, K9 projected a cone of red light into the air before him. It coalesced into a monochrome schematic which showed the tychomnemonic array in three dimensions.

_What is this?_ The Protector asked, suspending grief as its great milky irises contracted to focus upon the image.

"It is a tychomnemonic array. A fixed psycholinguistic positioning and transmission system used designed to transfer navigational, geographical, socio-economic, cultural and anthropological data directly into the mind of any Time Lord who encounters it. The array achieves this through mimetic programming, rewriting the memories and biodata of the affected Time Lord. Arrays were prone to abuse during the Time Wars, after they were used to turn Gallifreyans into genocidal agents."

I had no knowledge of this array. It must have been placed on K'thellid when the Time Lords imprisoned us.

"Query," said K9, shutting off the hologram. "What are your intentions towards the Doctor?"

_I am familiar with the technology you describe, and accept your case that the Doctor was not responsible for his actions._ The Protector paused. _However, he must be stopped. At all costs.

* * *

_

The Doctor stood in a daze. Unmoving, he wore a blank expression which failed to acknowledge the circle of destruction which surrounded him. Alone in a pocket universe with no TARDIS, with K9 lost, and with the deaths of both k'thellid and fallen on his hands, he was helpless and alone. There was, he realised, no monster to find here on K'thellid. None but himself. And with the power of the carnifex buried deep inside him, he realised that there was one other thing that was missing.

Options.

As he stood there, the Doctor was oblivious to the faint sound of hoofbeats that were getting closer by the second. He neither turned to face the horsemen as they arrived, nor react as they surrounded him with weapons drawn.

Sheriff Aldus surveyed the scene. Someone, or something, had killed three menks and a human, whom he presumed had been Nard.

Turning the ash beneath his feet, Aldus found a pendant he had once seen the boy wear, confirming his suspicions. Whatever did this had been standing at the very centre of the charred circle, where the Doctor stood.

"Doctor?" Aldus looked into the Time Lord's vacant face. "Did you do this?"

The Doctor's eyes, leaking a single tear, returned to focus.

"Yes," he said. "I killed them all." He offered his wrists to the Sheriff. "I think you need to lock me up, and throw away the key."

* * *

For the second time during her brief visit, Romana found herself being escorted under guard. Unlike her previous visit, however, she had company. On Gesar's instruction, both she and the old mother had been placed under house arrest, to be held securely in the latter's quarters until the abbot's return. Predictably, Teyamat had challenged his authority, but Gesar, his anger barely contained, was unmoved.

Romana noted a further variation to her previous arrest. On that occasion, the monks had been wearing simple robes and mirror-masks. This time, they were dressed in full armour, with gleaming silver breastplates layered over fine purple tunics Each carried a ceremonial stave and a shouldered staser rifle.

"I shouldn't worry yourself, my dear," said Teyamat. "The Madronites were always a martial order, but they haven't fired a gun in two million years."

Entering the same level as Pengallia's room, the escort guided the two women into a side passage, where they passed row upon row of simple cloisters, sparse and with little in the way of home comforts. At the end of the corridor, they came to Teyamat's quarters, where the prisoners were ushered inside.

It was a small, circular room, carved from the rock itself. Like Gesar's office, there was a well-shuttered window, but there the resemblance ended. Teyamat's bed was a simple mattress on the floor, and her only other furnishings were a table and a large ottoman which doubled as a bedside cabinet. The old crone settled onto the mattress, crossing her legs and grinning unnaturally up at her new cloister-mate.

"How can you live in this squalor?" Romana asked.

"It may be small and simple, Romana, but it's clean, and it serves my needs. I suggest you sit down and try to relax."

"Relax?" Romana paced around the room defiantly. "Gesar's suddenly taken up arms and decided to go carnifex hunting. You can hardly expect me to stand by and let the Doctor be killed."

"This Doctor means a lot to you?"

Romana paused. "I suppose."

She'd enjoyed her time with the Doctor, but her plan had always been to return to Gallifrey and to complete her development as a Time Lord. With that option temporarily unavailable… "He's all I have at the moment. Although that's largely his fault."

"So, have you been traveling together long?"

"No, just a couple of years. But it looks like we'll be stuck together for eternity."

"Why do you say that?"

"We double-crossed a… higher power."

"The Black Guardian, you mean?"

Romana started. "How do you know that?"

Teyamat smiled enigmatically. "It's written in the Book of Future Legends."

"It is?" To Romana, the Book of Future Legends was a myth. The book the ancient rulers of Gallifrey used to record their drug-kindled visions of future possibilities. A book that no longer existed.

"Everything is written somewhere," replied Teyamat, tapping a finger against her temple, "but not all books are printed on paper. This Doctor of yours is a renegade?"

"Of sorts," Romana answered.

The old crone's smile broadened, and her eyes twinkled. "Then you will be travelling together for a very long time."

"We will?" Romana found herself shocked at the prospect. "I'm finding him pretty insufferable at the moment, and I'm not sure I could cope with him much longer."

"So you are planning to leave him?"

"Well, I wasn't. But there's a clear job for me to do here, and it's not as if he needs me."

She considered the Doctor's predicament. He'd had human pets before, but he'd always managed to overcome the major obstacles in his life. And he'd spent most of their time together reminding Romana that she was little more than a fashion accessory.

"You need your Queen don't you? It's important that you rebuild your race and negotiate a new peace with the Time Lords."

"Perhaps," replied Teyamat. "But we've managed to survive for more than two million years."

"But now that survival is in danger. You said you were the one looking for me? Why would you do that if I wasn't needed."

"I didn't say you weren't needed. You are the last scion of Pengallia, and only through her return can we be free."

"So I should stay."

"You should do what feels right when the time comes."

"When the Doctor has been stopped, what other choice will she have, Teyamat?"

Gesar stood in the cloister doorway, adjusting the chin-strap to the plumed helmet which formed the last component of the silver battle armour he now wore.

"I've been considering your position, Lady Romana," he said. "Once I have dealt with the carnifex, we're going to challenge the Old Mother's theory. And if you truly are the last scion, then I'll personally oversee your development as a Time Lord."

"My…how can you do that? You're not even from Gallifrey."

Gesar smiled. "You've never heard of the Eightfold Path? They must be keeping new Time Lords in the dark these days. Now," he paused, smoothing out his purple cloak as he turned to leave the room, "I shouldn't be too long. And in the mean time," he turned his attention to Teyamat, "I suggest you prepare her mind for the ordeal."


	11. Book Two Chapter Nine

**Nine**

The riders galloped through the heavy rain in silence, the hooves of their panic-stricken steeds splashing through the mud as the purple sky slowly gave way to the darkness. It wasn't just their mounts that were afraid, because the dark cycle had come three shifts early. Passing through the city gate, they carried their prisoner through the market square, where panicked citizens and doomsayers barely ducked aside. They had their own problems, preparing for what might be the end of the world.

Riding pillion to Sergeant Malthus, the Doctor looked at the scene with sad eyes. The darkness had come too soon for the market to properly close, and the fallen seemed uncertain of what to do. Some just looked to the sky while others milled uncertainly. Some stalls had been abandoned as their owners chose to return to their homes. Torrents of rain filled the square, a rare experience in a world where the clouds tended to lie on the ground rather than hang in the sky.

For a second time, the Doctor found himself at the steps of the Constabulary. He looked away from Malthus as the Sergeant helped him to the ground, and he flinched as they ushered him indoors.

* * *

"Well?"

Romana paced the room while the old woman sat, cross-legged, in quiet contemplation. Teyamat opened her eyes, and looked at Romana questioningly.

"What's this ordeal, then?" Romana asked.

"Just a test," Teyamat smiled. "Nothing to worry about."

"It's the Doctor I'm worried about, Teyamat. We have to get out of here."

"I agree," the old woman said, uncrossing her legs and standing up, "but there are more important things to worry about."

"Such as?"

The old crone crossed to the shuttered cloister window, opening it to reveal the darkness outside.

"The dark cycle has come early. Ever since your TARDIS released that charge it would seem that time, or at least our perception of it, has been accelerated."

Romana shook her head, moving to look outside. "It's the Doctor's TARDIS, actually. Although she seems quite independent of his control most of the time. As for the temporal velocity, it hasn't changed, so it must be the sun. It's artificial isn't it?"

"The Oculus? Yes, it is."

Romana noted that the window was roughly hewn into the slope of the mountain, and that what at first appeared to be stone seemed to have a more porous, organic quality. There were signs of vegetation and brush growing on the hillside. She strained her neck to see if she could see the sun, but it was at too steep an angle for her.

"So," Teyamat continued to explain, "when the TARDIS attacked us, it must have been damaged as well."

Romana disagreed. "I've never heard of a TARDIS damaging a sun before."

"Well, it's not really a sun. It's more of a converter. It absorbs excess heat from the planet's atmosphere and converts some of it into light."

"Ah," Romana was beginning to understand. "Like a refrigeration laser? So where does all the other heat go?"

"Forgive me, Romana," said Teyamat, shrugging. "I'm not a scientist."

"No, but I am. This whole planet is inside a natural sun, and it receives its light from an artificial one. Without venting off most of the heat this planet would be a cinder. It has to go somewhere."

Teyamat closed the shutter again. Awkwardly.

"What? What is it you're not telling me?"

Returning to her bed, Teyamat settled down again, looking up at Romana.

"How far did you go?" She asked. "How much of the Queen's life did you see?"

"Enough to know that she didn't deserve her reputation as a power-hungry despot."

"Reputation? So the Time Lords didn't erase her from history?"

"Far from it," said Romana, casting her mind back to her childhood. "Her name may have been lost to history, but the House of Dvora was known as the House of Mad Presidents thanks to the legends of the Silver Queen and Morbius. In the modern era she's remembered for seizing the Presidency and wasting resources building a Presidential TARDIS the size of a small moon. The Pythia herself was said to have risen from the grave to banish her and end the Time Wars she'd perpetuated."

"The Pythia, eh?" Teyamat smiled. "That's a spin I hadn't heard. No, she seized the Presidency under very different circumstances. It's a good job I smuggled this in with me."

Reaching into the folds of her robes again, Teyamat withdrew the Royal Crown they had used in Pengallia's tomb. She held it out to Romana.

"Do you still want to see out what happened?"

Romana took the crown, and turned it in her hands. It was dented slightly, but otherwise looked the same as it had before. Lifting it to her head, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for a new vision.

After a moment, her mind's eye opened, and images began to appear. But they weren't images of Pengallia. This time, it seemed, she was looking through a familiar pair of eyes. Her own.

_It was mid-wainstide. Romana was walking down an empty corridor in the school wing of the House. Most of the other Cousins in her looming had either gone back to the dorm or were attending brain-buffing sessions. _

_Romana had never needed brain-buffing. Learning was her greatest joy in life. She had no more classes today, but there were the Middle History tests tomorrow, and she wanted to improve on her last score. So now she walked aimlessly through the corridors, playing back the day's lessons in her dreams._

"_Hey, Romy," a cheerful voice exclaimed, "so **here's** where you've been hiding!"_

"_Aunt Baba! What are you doing here?" _

_Baba was a tall woman who showed few signs of her true age. Her long dark hair was only lightly peppered with flecks of grey, and she proudly boasted that her single heart was a strong as that of an ox, despite the rumours that she was in her final incarnation. Nobody knew for sure how old she was, since she, like Romana herself, had been adopted from one of the orphan houses many years ago. It was a common bond that had drawn them together the very first time they met. _

_Her features were strong and attractive, with full lips and high cheekbones. Her other physical attributes were equally impressive, which was why she tended to wear a heavy, shapeless red habit. Baba's most prominent feature, faded over time, was the imprint of a red pentacle on her forehead, which she dismissed as a leftover from her wild, misspent youth. Despite this, Romana always thought of Baba as being old and dusty. Aunt Baba had always been more like a mother to her, even more so than she was to her own surrogate, Cousin Mornitude. _

"_I came to collect Mornie, but she's being buffed. Domini Sertimis has been trying to teach her institutional dynamics today, and you know how much she hates politics."_

"_Where have you been, Baba?" Romana ran up to her and gave her a big hug. " I haven't seen you for ages."_

"_I'm the House Pendectarian now, Romy. I've been busy re-indexing the old library. Still, it looks like I have an hour to kill, so maybe I can use it to catch up with my favourite neice."_

"_I can't wait until I'm old enough to use the library," said Romana. "I much prefer books to lessons."_

_Baba laughed. "Who says you're not old enough! I'm the Keeper of the Keys to the Green Room, and I decide who can and cannot visit the House library!" She looked at Romana, and with a twinkle in her blue eyes, she said, "Do you want to take a look?"_

_The young girl's face lit up at the prospect, but quickly fell when she remembered that she needed to do some prep work. "Er… I have to study Middle History for tomorrow, Baba."_

"_And where better to study history than in a library?" Baba tousled Romana's hair affectionately, reaching deep into her pockets. "Here, let's take a short cut." _

_Baba withdrew a small silver sphere from her robes, which Romana recognised as the old lady's TARDIS. Stooping, she rolled the sphere gently along the corridor, where it slowly grew in size until its sides touched those of the corridor. Taking Romana's hand, Aunt Baba walked her towards the silver sphere as a circular door appeared, allowing them to step inside._

_The shelves of the House library heaved with literature. It was dusty and crowded and seemed to promise the answers to all the questions of the universe. There were more books here, tightly packed into every nook and cranny, than Romana had seen in her entire life. Most of them were either very old and brittle, about to fall apart, or else they were yellowed by centuries of exposure to pipeweed-smoking scholars. _

_Aunt Baba had disappeared into an annex to conjure up some herbal tea, while Romana ran her fingers across the spines of the many old and weathered volumes resting in the section labelled 'Folklore'. On one shelf alone she found the abridged Maze of a Thousand Frames, The Book of Kaster, The Celaeano Transcripts, The Fables of Wayland, The House of Many Colours. On the next she found The Legend of Rassilon's Cat, The Legend of Zagreus, Mutter's Odyssey, Parlour Games for Time Tots, and several volumes of Prydonian Nights, which included an original version of her favourite bedtime story, the Technomage and the Tafelshrew._

_She took down a volume at random, sniffing at the spine and taking in the strong smell of bookwax before she settled down at the reading table before peeking inside. She paused to admire the richly coloured illustrations, flipped to the index, and looked for a tale which might take her fancy. Then she settled down and started to read…_

"_Prydonian Nights, eh, Romy?" Romana looked up. Aunt Baba set down a steaming mug of hot herbal tea and a plate of lushberry muffins. "I thought you were looking for history books, not fairy tales." _

_Romana smiled. "Sorry, Baba."_

_Aunt Baba slid the book across to see what story little Romy had been reading. "The Silver Queen and the Court of K'thannid, eh? I should warn you that these are the original stories, filled with vengeful gods and unrelenting monsters, not the modern versions. They'll give you nightmares."_

Romana blinked as the memory faded.

"It's not working," she said as she removed the crown. "I had a vision of my own childhood instead."

Teyamat frowned, taking back the object and examining it carefully.

"It must have been damaged by the energy surge."

"It doesn't matter," said Romana. "you can tell me about Pengallia and the Monks of Madronal while we escape."

Teyamat looked to the door of her cloister, beyond which two armoured Madronites were posted, enforcing their 'house arrest'. "How do you propose we do that, Romana?" She asked.

Moving to the window, Romana pulled back the shutter. It was pitch black outside, but earlier she had seen that the mountain sloped gently away from the open hole.

"Are there plenty of these windows cut into the rock?" She asked.

"Of course," said Teyamat, grinning.

"Then we need your bedsheets and a couple of torches. We'll be able to rescue the Doctor in no time at all."

* * *

Sheriff Aldus sat across from the Doctor, who maintained his silence, trying hard to focus on the jumble of items emptied from his pockets and scattered across the table at which they sat. Set beside them, untouched and unacknowledged, was a steaming bowl of hot vegetables which completely failed to make the stranger feel at home.

"Well, Doctor, we weren't expecting to see you again under these circumstances. First you're reporting an attack on the k'thellid, and then you're killing them."

The Time Lord stared into empty space, unresponsive to the Sheriff's words.

"Doctor?"

Aldus leaned forwards, snapping his fingers in the stranger's face.

"What?" The Doctor's eyes refocused, and he jerked away from Aldus' hand, "Keep away from me. Don't touch me."

Aldus backed away, while behind him Sergeant Malthus simply shrugged.

The Doctor reached out for one of the items on the table. It was a tooth. Picking it up and examining it, he absently reached for a second item. The metal toothpick he had used as Toulouse's torso.

"Premolar, no sign of infection," he said, inspecting his prize. He began scraping at it with the toothpick.

Aldus sighed. The Doctor was a mystery, to be sure, but the evidence spoke for itself. His dark mood was a complete contrast to his previous manic enthusiasm. Whatever he had done to the menks, it had been traumatic. The calcified remains of Nard and the m'n'ch'ks had been at the epicentre of some kind of energy burst. An energy burst that didn't appear to have come from a concealed weapon.

"All Hyde and no Jekyll," muttered the Doctor incoherently, setting down the tooth and reaching for another object. "No, no. That's not right."

"What do you think, Malthus? Perhaps this Doctor is the reason the k'thellid have been disappearing."

"Midas!" The Doctor used his toothpick to scrape some carbon from the tip of a spent match. "Definitely Midas."

Aldus glanced across the room to Malthus, who simply Sergeant shrugged again. "The Abbot will be happy we've caught him," he said.

The Sheriff pressed on. "Why did you do it, Doctor?"

"I had no choice," the prisoner replied, raising his head and looking at Aldus. More accurately, he looked to the left of Aldus, as if he were trying to avoid eye contact. "I was programmed to kill them. It's in my blood."

_Programmed?_ Aldus wondered who might program someone to do such a thing. It just didn't make sense.

"Look, Doctor, it's against the law to kill k'thellid. It's especially against the law to get caught killing k'thellid."

"I'm not supposed to be the boogeyman, you know."

"I'm sure you're not," the Sheriff reassured him, not entirely sure what a boogeyman was. "I'm going to have to lock you up until the elders decide what to do with you. And I doubt they'd be very lenient."

"Good," muttered the Doctor, whose only interest seemed to be the objects they had taken from his pockets. He replaced the match with another item, his yo-yo, wrapped in a tangle of knotted string.

"What about Nard," asked Malthus, stepping closer. "Did the k'thellid do something to him first? Were you protecting him from an unprovoked attack?"

"No," said the Doctor, shaking his head. Freeing up the yo-yo string, he began to wind the thread back into place. "He just got in the way."

"Look, Doctor," said Aldus through gritted teeth, his patience had been tested to the limit. "I'm going to level with you here. I think there is a way you can get out of this."

"Oh?" The Doctor didn't sound too bothered, instead testing his yo-yo.

Watching the Doctor 'walking the dog', the Sheriff decided that, short of violence, he was going to get nowhere. He decided to try tell the Doctor the truth.

"It's like this, Doctor. We're dying."

The Doctor caught the yo-yo, his hand closing around it as he looked up, his eyebrows raised. It was the first sign of curiosity that he had really expressed since his capture.

"Dying?"

Aldus nodded. "The number of newborne coming down the mountain is dwindling, and the number of k'thellid out there," he nodded in the general direction of the nearby shanty town, "is growing."

"Ah." The Doctor returned his attention to the yo-yo, which he lifted up near his face. Producing the toothpick again, he used it to loosen some dirt, which he blew away. "So there's no bouncing back for either of us."

"Bouncing back? We're not like your toy. We call ourselves the fallen for a reason, Doctor. When we first came to Rendulix, we came to fight a war. They were our enemies, but when we ended up sharing this…prison… a peace was brokered. A peace it's my duty to enforce. That's why you're here, in my protective custody."

"Protective custody? I'm supposed to be a prisoner, not a valued guest."

"As I said, we're all prisoners here. But you're no more guilty of murder than I am. The k'thellid are alien. Worse than that, they're still our enemy. We came here to wage war on them, and now we're meant to be living in peace with them."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"The law is one-sided, for a start. I am charged only with administering the law for the fallen, while the k'thellid have no legal system at all."

"So?"

"So it means I have to punish people for killing k'thellid, while the k'thellid won't be punished for killing one of us!"

"So how many of you have they killed?"

"None. But that's hardly the point."

"So what is the point?"

"There's a resistance. The Honour Guard. Their mission is to protect us from the k'thellid; to keep them from our shores."

"You applaud that?"

"It's my job as Sheriff to prevent it. However, he paused, I'm also…"

"The High Commander of the Honour Guard? Yes, I know."

"Ah." Aldus was thrown by the fact that the Doctor had guessed the truth. They'd been _so_ careful. "So, you've worked it out. Well, it's an open secret. Once you take the Guard, their families and close friends into consideration, they account for a quarter of the population. And most of the rest are sympathetic to our cause."

"Suicide is hardly a cause," said the Doctor, sullenly. Returning his attention to the object on the table, he selected the small battery-powered electric latte-whisk. Switching it on, he pointed it towards his nose. He stared directly into the mini-whisk as it closed in on his face. Leaning forwards, Malthus snatched it away. Snapping it off, he returned it to the table.

"Look, Doctor," said Aldus, "I'm not your enemy."

Sweeping up his novelty pen-light-cum-laser pointer, the Doctor shone it into his eye, flinching even as Malthus again disarmed him.

"Doctor!" Aldus big fist crashed into the table, scattering the Doctor's bric-a-brac and spilling vegetables across the table. "I can only tolerate so much of your eccentricity. You've killed three of the k'thellid, and possibly Nard. I'm supposed to punish you, but I happen to believe you were sent here for a purpose."

"What purpose?" The Doctor asked, lucidity returning to his features.

"To support out crusade against the menks."

"Crusade? I've seen crusades, Sheriff. What you're proposing is more like the charge of the Light Brigade. Pointless bravado in the face of overwhelming odds. Being told to fight a war is one thing, but this is about fear and loathing. Why do you hate them so?"

"It wasn't because of the war. We won that. Or so we thought. But they won the peace.

Imagine winning a war and then finding yourself marooned on your enemy's homeworld. They were beaten, but they still outnumbered us a thousand, a million, to one. We've been forced into this peace against our will, ordered to respect their ways while they have no respect for ours. For two million years we've lived side by side, watching the fallen get weaker, and the menks get stronger. If we don't use violence to kill them, they'll use peace to annihilate us. We don't have any choice."

"No choice," the Doctor echoed, picking up the well-squeezed tube of gouache, squeezing out the shape of a frowning face onto the table. "Just like me."

"Of course you have a choice, Doctor. Join me and the Honour Guard. Help us to finish finish this and we can help you to adjust. Help me to save my people."

"You're mad," said the Doctor, stabbing the gouache tube repeatedly with the toothpick, as if testing it for sharpness. After cleanly skewering his target three times into succession, he broke out into a wide grin, "stark, staring bonkers. But I do have to thank you for reminding me of my choices."

Before Sheriff Aldus could stop him, the laughing Doctor began plunging the metal spike repeatedly into his own eyes.


	12. Book Two Chapter Ten

**Ten **

Struggling against the driving rain, six cloaked figures made their way down from the mountain. With the dark cycle coming early, Low Ebb had begun, and the rising water level was confusing the local fauna. Their backs glittering with light reflected from half a dozen sets of glowing green lenses, jewelled scorpions scuttled across the mountain path, forcing the monks to pick their way through nocturnal traffic.

At the head of the group, Abbot Gesar paused to wipe rivulets of water from beneath his low-light goggles. There was, he noted, as much moisture inside his clothing as there was in the air around them. Without the cooling walls of the mountain to protect them, the rising heat was starting to become overpowering. Scanning ahead, he detected an upward shift in the colour of the ground before him. A clear sign of the rapid heating that heralded the coming of the ultraviolet phase.

With a signal to his brothers, Gesar gave the instruction for them to reverse their cloaks and lower their reflective visors. Adjusting his goggles, the abbot lowered his own protective visor into place, gesturing for his men to press forward as the rain eased, and the fog thickened, lighting up the city wall ahead.

Passing through the gate, the Monks of Madronal found the streets deserted. Hastily abandoned in the panic that followed the sudden onset of darkness, the abbot noticed several half-empty stalls and a number of tilted carts and pallets scattered across the city square. Turning into a side street, he led his men the short distance to the front of the Constabulary. Mounting the steps, he tested the door and found it locked.

"Sheriff Aldus!" He shouted, pounding anxiously on the door. "Aldus, it's Abbot Gesar! Open up!"

* * *

The Doctor's forced laughter chilled Aldus to the bone as rivers of blood gushed from blind eyes, pouring across the time lord's pain-wracked face.

"Damned fool," cursed Aldus, reaching forwards for the prisoner's scarf, which he pressed against the Doctor's wounds. The criticism was more of himself than of the lunatic sat before him. He'd had precious little experience of self-harm. And to do it to the eyes…

"Malthus!" The Sheriff's own empty socket throbbed sympathetically as he recalled the day he lost his own eye to a flailing pincer. "Get me some water, and bandages!"

"What's wrong, Sheriff?" laughed the Doctor, clearly unhinged, "have you never seen a selfless act before?"

"You may think me mad," said Aldus, using the Doctor's multi-coloured scarf as a makeshift dressing to bind his ruptured eyes, "but nothing compares to this kind of insanity."

"Eyes, what do I need them for," the Doctor chirped, "when I have wings to fly?"

"Why would you do this? I was offering you your freedom."

"Freedom in exchange for fighting an unjust war is no kind of freedom at all. This,' the sightless Doctor gestured towards his injury, "this is true freedom. My choice. My doing."

Aldus sighed, lost for words. Tying off the Doctor's scarf, he took stock of the blood on the floor, the table, the Doctor and his hands. "Just look at this mess."

"I'm sorry for inconveniencing you, Sheriff. Now, if you don't mind putting my things in a bag and lending me a walking stick, I think I'll be going."

The Doctor rose, clearly intending to find his way to the door. Taking one of his outstretched hands, Aldus gently forced him back into the chair as a polite cough cut through the tension.

"Sheriff," said Malthus, "we have a problem."

"I can see that, Sergeant," said Aldus, mopping away some blood from the table with the end of the Doctor's scarf. "This is going to need a good scrubbing."

"Not that problem. Abbot Gesar is here with a delegation from the Monastery."

"The Monastery? Excellent," said the Doctor. "Do you think they might have somewhere I can convalesce while my eyes grow back?"

"Enough, Doctor! Get him out of here, Malthus. Put him in one of the cells while I see to our guests."

* * *

As the first deadbolt slipped free, Gesar and his monks slipped off their mirror-masks to embrace the near-total darkness before the great Constabulary door creaked open, bathing them in artificial light. Towering over the abbot, a rather unkempt Sheriff Aldus stood in the doorway, his great lilac-blue cloak draping him from head to foot, his single unblinking pink eye burning into the abbot's soul.

"Yes?" The Sheriff asked in his gruffest, most menacing, voice.

"Aldus, it's me," said Gesar, stepping forwards, fully expecting the larger man to stand aside.

"Abbot." The big man frowned, not giving any ground. "What a pleasant surprise," he said, unconvincingly, making a quick headcount as his eye adjusted to the darkness.

"Well," said the abbot, squaring up to the sheriff, "are you going to invite us in?"

"Yes, yes of course," said Aldus, briefly glancing backwards over his shoulder. "Do, _do_ come inside."

Standing aside, he ushered the party into the front hall, where he had hastily cleared away all signs of the Doctor's recent interrogation. The room was still a mess, with a bucket of water and a cloth sitting in the middle of the floor, and some scattered objects lying around Sergeant Malthus' table, over which a large blanket had been hastily thrown. A second blanket covered the chair that the stranger had, until moments earlier, occupied.

But there was still, the sheriff noted, some blood on the floor.

"I'm so sorry about the mess," said Aldus, perching himself inconspicuously on the corner of the table. "As you can see, I've been rather busy."

Oblivious to the sheriff's nerves, it was clear that the abbot wasn't going to be distracted from his purpose. "I'm here to secure your help, Sheriff. We're all in great danger."

"Are we?" The sheriff feigned ignorance. It was clear that whatever the abbot knew, he didn't consider that Aldus might have any useful information. "Is this something to do with the Oculus?"

Gesar nodded. "There is a Carnifex on the loose."

_Carnifex?_ Aldus vaguely remembered the Doctor muttering such a word, but it still drew a blank. "A Carnifex? Forgive me, Abbot, my memory's not what it once was. What's a Carnifex?"

"A killer, sent by the Time Lords to destroy their enemies."

"Really?" So that was it. The Doctor was some kind of scout or spy sent by the High Council, which meant… "There's nothing like that out there…"

The abbot responded with a dismissive sneer. "I can assure you Sheriff…"

"…because it's in here," concluded Aldus, wallowing in momentary smugness. Stepping down from the table, the sheriff drew back the blanket, exposing the mess of blood and relishing the look on the priest's face. "Is this Carnifex of yours a chap called the Doctor?"

Gesar's eyes lit up. "Yes. Yes, that's him. You have him in custody?"

Aldus nodded. "Protective custody."

"Excellent. I need to interrogate him, and then we need to…"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. He's not fit for interrogation right now."

"Why?" The abbot was catching on to the fact that things weren't going to plan as Aldus drew back the second blanket, indicated just how significant the loss of blood had been for his prisoner. "What exactly did you do to him?"

"As you can see, he's not very well at the moment. But he'll live."

"Can I see him?" Gesar asked. "He needs to be prepared for trial."

Aldus shook his head. "Impossible. He's far too dangerous to risk further interrogation. In fact," he paused, deciding to push his luck, "I'm recommending that he be tried in absentia."

The abbot shook his head, turning briefly to look towards his men before returning the sheriff's gaze. "This isn't a trivial matter, Sheriff. The Doctor isn't one of us, he's from Gallifrey."

Aldus shrugged. "Regardless of his origins, he'll be dealt with, Abbot, but…"

"This is beyond your jurisdiction, Sheriff. It's not a criminal matter, and therefore not for you to decide."

"He's in my custody," said Aldus, "and I'm not about to give him up to you."

"This is unacceptable." Gesar gestured to his men. "Hand him over to me, now."

At the abbot's signal, the six monks shed their reflective garments to reveal their shining armour. They stepped forwards to activate a clutch of extendable staves. There was an audible crackle as energy rippled, and short batons became four-foot poles.

"Weapons?" Aldus sneered derisively, "I didn't think you had it in you anymore. The warrior monks haven't raised arms in two million years."

"Ch'sheth, Xerinar."

The two monks, one human and one k'thellid, stepped forward, their arms whipping through the air towards the sheriff. Aldus made his move quickly, sidestepping the human's blow while moving inside the k'thellid's range. The human, Xerinar, found the tip of a dirk resting on his windpipe, while the k'thellid, Ch'sheth, found itself tentacle to nose with the sheriff.

_Squeeeeee. _Ch'sheth also found its feet dangling above the ground, the sheriff's giant fist clenched around the rugose umbilical that fused its head to its body. Tentacles flailed as panic quivered through its flushed cranium. _Let meee goooo._

"Aldus, enough. Please."

"Bring it on, priest," said the sheriff, flecks of spittle peppering the creature before him. "I'll bring you all down if I have to. You have no power over me."

A moment later Ch'sheth lay in a crumpled heap at Aldus' feet, while the monks distanced themselves, forming a defensive circle around him. The abbot stood aghast between the monks and the sheriff. Looking towards his men he saw their hesitation. Should they press the attack? Slowly he raised his left hand.

"Put up your staves, men," he said. Then, to Aldus, "I'll get the City Elders to settle this."

The sheriff shrugged. "That's fine with me," he said. "I'll summon them when the dark cycle ends."

"No," said the abbot, looking down at Ch'sheth. The monk sat with its legs apart, its hands lying limply between its thighs, its flushed skin quivering as it rocked to and fro, flecks of human spittle dribbling onto its tentacles. "This can't wait. We'll summon them now."

* * *

Halfway down Mount Madronal, some six hundred feet below the end of their makeshift rope, two blanket-wrapped, mirror-masked figures slowly eased themselves closer and closer towards an open window, their only light-source a guttering torch that allowed them to see each other, but precious little else.

The smaller of the two figures took the lead, the sound of her voice guiding her companion towards their destination.

"They were called Madronites back then," said Teyamat, "warrior-priests who swore their allegiance to the Silver Queen in gratitude for allowing them to return to Gallifrey. When she defeated K'thannid and ended the Time War, it was the Madronites who brought her news of imminent betrayal by the High Council."

"Whoa," said Romana, catching up with an infuriatingly familiar term. "K'thannid?"

The old crone nodded. "K'thannid was the first Protector. They claimed he was the world's archon, one of the Great Old Ones in whose image the k'thellid were created at the dawn of the universe."

"Pengallia defeated a god?"

"Whatever he was, he was immeasurably old and powerful. By imprisoning him in the Well of Time she rid the Time Lords of their last great enemy. And then the Time Lords rewarded her with a prison all of her own."

"So… K'thannid is trapped inside a prison within a prison?"

Teyamat nodded, turning her attention to the window where they had finally arrived. Handing the burning faggot to Romana, she started to force its shutters open.

"And the Monks are the prison guards!" Romana concluded as her guide slipped back into the mountain. Setting the torch aside, the Time Lady followed her, slipping into a small side-chamber similar to those she had seen in her earlier visit to this level. With the torch left outside and out of reach, Romana paused to let her eyes become accustomed to the darkness.

"No." Teyamat continued to explain. "Their original duty was to protect the Well from the k'thellid, but when Pengallia left us, the Order instead agreed to foster peace between her armies and the defeated enemy. Ever since then they've been promoting harmony between the two races."

"And the k'thellid don't object to their god being trapped in the Well?"

"It can only be opened by Pengallia," explained Teyamat, "so instead they serve as monks so that they may pay their respects."

"But if I'm meant to be Pengallia, doesn't that mean they might see me as the means to their god's salvation?"

"They might," said Teyamat, pondering the possibility.

"One last question then," asked Romana. "Would you say K'thannid was a… vengeful god?"

In the dim light, Romana saw Teyamat shrug her shoulders.

* * *

While Aldus used his martial skills to entertain the Monks of Madronal, his loyal sergeant was busy ushering the blind Doctor into a cell.

"Here, let me sit you down," said Malthus, lowering the Doctor onto a bench. This was not, the time lord concluded, the same cell as the one he had occupied earlier in the day. As the Doctor made himself comfortable, he picked up the sound of rustling cloth as Malthus reached into one of his pockets and withdrew a linen pouch.

"Here," said Malthus, reaching into the pouch and drawing something out, "take this. It should ease your pain."

Reaching out his hand, the Doctor felt something pressed against his palm.

"What is it?"

It was a tube; similar to the one Toulouse's face had emerged from. Unscrewing the cap, the Doctor squeezed a little onto the tip of his finger and sniffed. It wasn't, he decided, too dissimilar to what the Exilir of Life had smelled like when he used it to cure Sarah Jane Smith's blindness during a previous adventure.

"It's called fellene gel; it has regenerative properties."

"Hmm. It smells familiar." The Doctor dabbed a small amount onto the tip of his tongue and rolled it around inside his mouth. "I don't suppose you've ever been to a planet called Karn?"

"I've never been anywhere, Doctor. None of us have."

"So where does this gel come from?"

"The k'thellid."

"Oh?"

Malthus started to explain. "The fellene are great coral spheres that roam the deepest parts of the sea. Their outer surface produces acidic mucus, breaking down anything and everything they come into contact with."

"So the gel comes from inside the fellene?"

"Yes, I believe so. The k'thellid milk it from some gland or other. I don't know the details."

"What do the k'thellid use the milk for?"

The question confused Malthus, who paused to consider it. "Nothing that I know of, they aren't like us."

"So," the Doctor suggested, "they just use it for barter."

"Barter?"

"Trade. The k'thellid give you the gel in exchange for something else?"

"No," Malthus paused again as the Doctor challenged his perceptions.

"So," the Doctor continued, pressing his point home, "they just go out into the deep sea, risk their lives to extract this gel, and then give it to you for free? Do you not think that might be a good reason to keep the peace with them?"

"It isn't like that, Doctor. The monks preserve the peace, but the _menks_ don't need us. When we came here the planet was just a ball of boiling water. It's the Oculus that makes the planet habitable for humanoids. That's what it was created for."

The Oculus? The Doctor was beginning to understand. The artificial sun was the key to understanding this planet's weird ecology, its politics and, more notably, its survival.

"So if the Oculus fails?"

"The planet would return to the way it was before we came along. Inhospitable to anyone but the k'thellid."

"And that's what you think they want?"

"I'm certain of it. Why else would so many of them want to give up a life underwater and learn to walk and talk like men."

"K'thellid priests walk and talk? That's an impressive feat for a species without a skeletal structure, I must say. Surely they're just adapting to their new environment. You have an alternative suggestion?"

"They'll do anything to get close to the Oculus. To destroy it."

"Ah," the Doctor was beginning to understand the paranoia, and accepted the possibility that it could be justified. Then he considered the gel.

"This gel, is it yours?" He asked, holding it aloft.

"My wife's."

Something in Malthus' voice caught the Doctor's attention. There was a lot of emotion behind the words. Pain. Resignation.

"She's ill?"

Malthus started to nod before remembering he was addressing a blind man who must have been in the most excruciating pain. He was surprised at how relaxed the Doctor appeared to be, as it the blindness had somehow relieved, rather than elevated his suffering. Beneath his dressing the stranger seemed remarkably relaxed. And attentive.

"Carcinogenesis," said Malthus, unburdening his thoughts with a single word. "Her cellular structure is breaking down, and cancers are eating her body from the inside."

"That's a rare condition on Gallifrey," said the Doctor. "They've added so many fail safes and redundancies to our bodies that we get a bit carried away sometimes. I can cut off my arm, gouge out my eyes or even tear out my on heart and still recover over time, but this… it's what regeneration was made for. The ultimate cure for cancer. Have you been together long?"

"Melosa has been with me since I last came down from the mountain."

"And before that? Don't relationships survive regeneration here?"

"Only the body survives."

"You don't regenerate naturally?"

"No. We use these bodies for as long as we possibly can, then they get taken up the mountain."

"How many times have you been up the mountain, Malthus?"

"I…don't know. A regeneration on Rendulix is like a separate life. Most people struggle to remember their identity, let alone their personal history."

"My minds been scrambled by regeneration, but at least I had full access to Time Lord technology. And it takes people months to recover."

"So when Melosa goes…?"

"She probably won't know me when she gets back."

The Doctor didn't need eyes to know that a tear was rolling down the sergeant's cheek. Feeling a little uncomfortable, he reached forwards, patting his way across Malthus' body until he found his gaoler's wrist. He gripped it reassuringly.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Malthus."

"I was wondering. You're a Doctor… can you help?"

The Doctor sighed helplessly. "It's doubtful. I may be a doctor, but my medical qualifications come from a backwater world that doesn't cover post-regenerative physiology, just those who still have their natural bodies. If you share this medicine with me, I can't guarantee to save your wife in return."

"You think it's a bribe?" The Doctor could feel the offense taken in the sergeant's voice. "You're in pain, Doctor. You need the gel more than Melosa does. She has enough to see the week through, which is more than she needs."

"Why don't you have proper medical facilities here?"

"They have some up on the mountain. Doctor Tavic handles most of our needs, and the gel is usually enough to deal with anything that isn't fatal or degenerative. You'll have a new set of eyes in no time"

The Doctor held out his hand, returning the gel.

"I'm not ready for that," he said solemnly.

Malthus closed the Doctor's hand over the tube. "It will still take months. The gel's not _that_ good."

Smiling, the Doctor took the gift, feeling for a pocket to slip it into.

For future use.


	13. Book Two Chapter Eleven

**Eleven**

K9's return journey from the k'thellid undercity and through portside was far more uneventful than his outward journey. While he was again coated in protective mucus and secured to the back of an undulating m'n'ch'k, the little robot dog was both switched on and fully functional. He also found himself unencumbered by his master's incessant distractions, although he did find the comparative silence of Protector K'thellid and its accompanying entourage left him running more diagnostics and parallel algorithms than usual, as well as taking a microsecond to speculate on what the Doctor would have called the sensation: _boredom._

It was a bored K9 that catalogued and stored flora and fauna as he passed them; that processed environmental, geospatial and relational information; that compared and contrasted the data uploaded from the tychomnemonic array with the data acquired by his passive sensors. As he processed the information, a number of system alerts competed for priority until the information coalesced, allowing K9 to arrive at an inescapable conclusion.

The planet was unstable.

The psychic backlash that had forced K9 to sever his link with the Doctor had also caused untold damage to the Oculus, which, K9 concluded, had been venting excess heat as a means of sustaining a habitable environment.

Levitating ahead of the group on a large circular palanquin, Protector K'thellid was the first to pass through the city gate, his large bulk glowing as the k'thellid equivalent of sun screen was lit up by powerful ultraviolet rays.

As they passed through the city square, K9 considered the consequences of sharing his newfound discovery with the Protector, and concluded that there were too many negative variables involving the Doctor. With no obligation to divulge the information, K9 decided that his first priority would have to be to find and inform his master.

* * *

Abbot Gesar impatiently paced up and down the front hall of the constabulary as he awaited Aldus's return. Leaving Malthus in charge, armed with a particularly nasty looking shock-gun, the sheriff had taken it upon himself to go out and fetch the City Elders. The other monks had taken to sitting on the floor around Brother G'sheth, whose skin had regained its former greyish-pink hue, and whose nervous tentacle-twitch had settled down into a more regular swaying.

"How is he?" asked Gesar, neither slowing his pace, nor concealing the impatience in his voice.

"Better," said Brother Xerinar, who sat gently keeping the k'thellid bathed in water. The shock of his encounter with the sheriff had clearly stopped the alien monk from producing the regular secretions necessary to keep his rough skin moist.

The abbot's enquiry was cut short as a grating sound drew his attention to the outer wall. This noise was followed by a gentle vibrating hum, and the monks closest to the wall began to scatter. Across the room, Sergeant Malthus rose to his feet.

Like magic, the whitewash of the wall faded away to reveal bare plaster, which itself peeled back to expose the brickwork. This in turn spiralled away into nothingness, and a hole spread downwards from roof to floor. It was as if the wall had never been constructed.

On the outside of the constabulary, the shimmering bulk of Protector K'thellid became visible, its appendages outstretched, shedding an eerie light upon K9 and the retainers that accompanied them.

"Protector?" The Abbot stepped forward to greet the k'thellid.

_Gesar_, the great cephalopod responded, its skin flashing as it levitated forwards and into the room. Behind it, the m'nch'k bearing K9 on its back pitched towards the ground and the little dog trundled forwards, breaking through his mucus bonds and entering the room at the Protector's side. As K'thellid slowly relaxed its tentacles, the wall rebuilt itself behind them, blocking out the rest of the k'thellid and m'n'ch'k.

"This is… unexpected," said the abbot, breaking out into a smile, "but it's good to see you. "

_These aren't good times, Gesar. _

"No, no, they're not. I take it we're here for the same reason?"

_The carnifex._

Gesar nodded. The Protector's response was, like his own, to be expected.

"I lost G'thon," he said. "Have there been many casualties in the undercity?"

_Minimal._ This… robot prevented further catastrophe.

"A robot?" Gesar looked down at K9. He'd never seen anything quite like it before, and it certainly didn't conform to any k'thellid design. "Is it yours?"

_It belongs to the carnifex._

"And yet it saved you?"

Yes. Its master would seem to be an unwilling party to these events. I suspect his arrival here may have triggered his programming.

"Really?" It was a bold conclusion, thought Gesar. "Are you aware that the carnifex wasn't alone, Protector?"

_I was. But there is only one carnifex, correct?_

Gesar nodded. "The other time lord displayed no signs of the power."

_Only one carnifex is needed. You've seen what he can do?_

"With my own eyes, Protector. His first attack accelerated the cycles. There's no knowing how much damage the Oculus has suffered."

Then we must see to it at once, Gesar.

"The carnifex needs to be dealt with first. That's why I'm here."

And I.

"With respect Protector, you're probably his primary target."

He must be found.

"He's already here. In one of the cells. The sheriff has him in custody."

* * *

With the k'thellid and m'n'ch'k left outside, and the Protector deep in debate with Abbot Gesar, it took very little effort on K9's part to use their conversation as a distraction. There were others present – monks, the sergeant – but the Protector's air of authority seemed to have given K9 a legitimacy which left his progress unchallenged as he began to move around the chamber.

With his exitonic circuits blown, the little robot was relying on more traditional methods of detection to track down the Doctor. His first clue lay in the air. K9's atmospheric sensors picked up traces of hyperoxygenated blood vapour in a state of accelerated decomposition. 47 parts per million and rising as he moved closer towards the source.

The Doctor had once explained to K9 that all time lord blood was of the same type, and was infected with a nanovirus developed by a paranoid Arcalian surgeon who feared that the many properties of its serum might make it a medical panacea for lesser species. When separated from its host, the nanovirus would render the blood useless, causing many of its more interesting components to evaporate into the atmosphere.

Darker than that of humans, K9 recalled that the Doctor's blood also had a rusty orange tint similar to that which graced the floor on the other side of the chamber, forming a trail which led through a doorway and into a corridor beyond. A brief infrared scan of the area behind the door revealed the second clue: a single heat source.

Trundling forwards, K9 nudged his way through the doorway and into the corridor. His red eyes glowed in the darkness as he made his way towards his quarry.

In the world of darkness he had made his own, the Doctor was painting himself a new pair of eyes. In place of a brush he was using his trusty sonic screwdriver, and in place of a canvas he was painting upon the darkness of space. For a palette, he used his scarf, which he draped across his left arm.

The colours he was using – both in the scarf and in the sky – weren't the mundane ultramarines and burnt umbers of an artist's palette, but the dynamic and shifting colours of time and space. So far, the Doctor had used his canvas to create a self-portrait in the stars, their twinkling lights really bringing out his best features – the unruly curls, the bold nose, the iconic smile. Which brought him to the eyes. Stars were fine, but if the eyes are the window to the soul then he needed something really exciting. Maybe he should change his style? The realism of Hardy was fine, but the Doctor considered himself to be more of a surrealist. Daliesque, perhaps? Or Picasso? Whatever eyes he ended up with, he was going to have to live with them, and he couldn't help feeling that one of the eyes might end up in the back of his head. Useful for avoiding the occasional backstabber, but not aesthetically pleasing to the mind's… ah.

Perhaps, thought the Doctor, I've been a bit rash. It's not like I've ever had to pluck my own eyes out before. He reached up and felt his empty sockets through Malthus' dressing, and very nearly failed to notice the familiar hum of a robot laser being applied to a prison lock.

"Who's there?" He called out.

The door creaked open. "Master?"

"K9, it's you! Excellent. Well done. How's your head?"

The Doctor reached blindly forwards, tracing his fingertips of the robot's casing. Tracing up across his name and over the buttons of his data-entry pad, the Doctor reached the dog collar he had fashioned, expecting to find a hole filled with trailing cables where the unit's head should be. Instead he came palm to cheek with a pristine robot head.

"With the exception of the exitonic relay circuit, this unit is operating at one hundred and ten percent efficiency."

"A hundred and ten percent? Why, that's very nearly full working order. K9, I think you have some explaining to do…"

* * *

In the bowels of Mount Madronal, Romana and Teyamat picked their way through cramped, half-lit corridors that smelled of moss and rising damp. They were cold and uninhabited, and not at all what Romana was expecting.

"You're sure this is the same level as the TARDIS and the Well?"

"Of course," said Teyamat reassuringly. "All the smaller rooms and chambers are situated closest to the surface. There are more of them down here because we're nearer to the foot of the mountain."

Romana sighed. "It's just that last time I came down here it was, well, more lived in."

Several feet ahead, Teyamat turned, exposing more light from the torch as she prepared to turn another corner. "It's alright, we're here," she said, ducking out of view again, leaving only the glow of the torch in her wake. "This way."

Rounding the bend, Romana found herself at the old crone's side. A narrow, unlit corridor stretched ahead of them, and Teyamat urged her forwards.

"It's a bit dark," she said, making her way along what was beginning to feel more like a crawlspace. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm right behind you."

Romana smiled as she peered into the fading gloom. "That's my point," she said. "A moment ago you were right in front of me. Now you're behind me and I can't see."

"Here," said Teyamat, passing her light forwards, "take the torch."

"Thanks, I… hey…" Romana found herself standing before a strange door in the middle of the corridor. It was strange because until now all of the doors had been standard, rectangular, perpendicular, straight edged doors. But this one… it had five edges instead of four, and none were of the same length. It was like a skewed pentacle stretched to accommodate human form. It wasn't quite the shape of a coffin.

"Open it," urged Teyamat, as a perplexed look fell across Romana's face.

In the centre of the door was an oddly crafted handle. Like the door, it had five edges. This time, as well as not matching each other, their shape didn't seem to match that of the door either. She twisted the handle, and pushed.

As the door opened stale air made the torch flicker. Romana stepped forwards, but the light of her torch seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. Her hearts in her mouth, she couldn't tell if she had entered a chamber or a corridor.

As she moved forwards, the door closed behind her. Romana turned round to find that the five-edged door had no handle on her side. She was trapped. For a moment she felt a range of feelings well up inside her. Fear, panic, claustrophobia, paranoia, embarrassment.

"Teyamat!" She called through the door. "What are you doing?"

There was a brief moment of silence before the old crone replied.

"It's alright, Romana," she said. "It's just a quick detour. You'll be perfectly safe."

"Safe? What are you…?"

"Remember what Abbot Gesar said, about an ordeal?"

Romana felt a strong sense of betrayal. For whatever reason, and no matter how creepy she had seemed, Romana had trusted Teyamat throughout their time together. Even now, with the old woman's betrayal evident, things didn't seem quite right.

"What are you doing? Let me out of here."

With the door closed, the light of Romana's torch was dwindling. Despite this, what had first been unfathomable darkness had now become a small secluded chamber, with corners – lots of corners – scattered around the room at odd and, Romana found herself thinking, disturbing angles. It was small; the walls were smooth; and there was nothing in there with her.

"Calm down, Romana. We'll get to your TARDIS and your precious Doctor shortly, but if you're going to be taken seriously by the abbot, you have to take this test."

"_This_ test?" Romana looked around again. She looked for spikes in the floor or moving walls, but there was nothing. Not even cobwebs or rat-holes. Just seamless grey plaster walls. "It's just an empty room."

"Teyamat?" The torch sputtered again as she called out. "Whose side are you on?"

From the other side of the door Teyamat answered, her voice desperately trying to reassure. "My loyalty is to the Silver Queen, Romana. You know that. But if you pass this test, my loyalty will be to you."

"_If _I pass this test? A moment ago you said I'd be perfectly safe. You're beginning to sound about as reliable as the Doctor."

"You will be safe. Relax."

Romana's hearts were still racing as she cast her mind back to their conversation with Gesar, desperately trying to anticipate what was about to happen. "Aren't I supposed to have prepared my mind?"

"The abbot doesn't know what he's talking about," said Teyamat. "He never did. Now relax, you have nothing to fear."

As the light of her torch sputtered and died, Romana dropped it to the floor. The rich red glow of its tip faded as she began to hammer on the door.

"Teyamat! Let me out!"

There was silence.

On the other side of the door, the old crone held her breath, chewing on her lip as doubts crept into her own mind. Maybe Romana wasn't as safe as she believed.

"Teyamat!"

Faltering, the old woman reached for the handle. She felt its edges pressing into her palms and, for a moment, considered going back on her actions. But there was no going back. Not now. She stepped away from the door, her firsts clenched, her faith tested. Inside the room, Romana had slumped to the ground, twisting so that her back was to the door, and her eyes were peering into the darkness.

As she looked, the darkness shifted. Shadows receded and the room seemed to be bathed in some kind of light. No, it wasn't light. It was _unlight_. Romana could see, but she shouldn't. The corners of the room were clearly visible, but with the torch gone there was no light source. What she saw was in her mind. And her mind told her that the corners were moving; and multiplying; and twisting.

What she was sensing, Romana realised, were dimensions _beyond_ the room. For years the Academy had prepared her for the experience, and in her mind's eye she had always been aware that the higher dimensions were there, just out of reach. She'd been trained to see, hear and smell almost all of the eleven dimensions, and she and the Doctor had even managed to enter Calabi Yau space once, but this was different: the higher dimensions were coming to her.

The sensations were completely alien to anything she had experienced before. She was staring into a non-Euclidean kaleidoscope where everything was shifting but nothing was moving, all at the same time; she could smell the pungent, acrid odour they exuded; and she could hear them, whispering, slavering, and baying eerily, announcing their convergence upon the chamber.

Something was coming.

From the corners of the room Romana could perceive something. Pale, grey, grainy. Like some strange peripheral shore beyond time and space where, out of the corner of her eye, she saw them.

For a moment, Romana found herself standing on the otherworldly shore, and _they_ were there, shadowy and incorporeal; distant but aware.

As she smelled them, so they scented her, and turned towards her. Their form was indescribable, and yet familiar; like a trio of emaciated, spectral wolves, they turned, and in the unlight of the chamber, they shifted into greater focus.

Cracks appeared in the walls of the chamber as the shores faded around them. The room began to gently vibrate as they loped towards the threshold between dimensions, squeezing themselves into the chamber like dry ice through gaps in floorboards, passing through the strangest angles in a bid to reach their prey. And their prey was Romana. Pressing her back against the door as the smoke became more concentrated, she stifled a scream as chunks of plaster began to fall from the walls and ceiling, and the creatures slowly became more tangible, folding themselves into existence like origami hounds crafted out of smoke.

Lean and hungry, they moved closer.

And closer.

The creatures came so close that Romana could feel their rasping breath upon her throat, their teeth only inches away from her flesh. They were so close that their tongues…


	14. Book Two Chapter Twelve

Twelve 

Deep among the labyrinthine streets of the city sat a large, ugly building. Like many of the abandoned houses, it showed outward signs of neglect, the walls overgrown with creeping vines and covered in layered stains caused by the constant rising and falling of the mists that permeated the city. Rising high above its neighbouring residences, the City Pendectary contained the second largest body of knowledge on the planet. With the slow decline of technology on Rendulix, organic databanks had long since given way to simpler, crystal based technologies, which themselves were replaced by discs, tapes and eventually, the halide fiche, a flimsy celluloid film onto which thumb-sized pages were imprinted, ready to be retrieved by the last working reader. As understanding of the technology dwindled, Pendectarian Erkal, a kind of scribe-librarian, hatched a plan to make the city's vast knowledge archive available to its citizens, painstakingly translating the fiche records into a newer and more durable, energy-friendly form of data storage guaranteed to survive even the most critical of power failures. Erkal christened this revolutionary new technology the book. It was the development of the book that allowed Erkal to be recognized as an elder of the city. Alone amongst the fallen, Erkal kept a secret diary, recording the events of his daily life, unwittingly preparing for the day of his regeneration and the loss of memory that accompanied it. Each time he returned to the Pendectary, Erkal would find himself reinvigorated with new interests, which allowed him to continue his task. But for all of his efforts, Erkal led a life of solitude, rarely leaving the Pendectary, and even more rarely receiving visitors.

By the fading light of a single glow-bulb hanging from the centre of his great study, Erkal pressed on with his life's work, alternating between the pale blue glow of the reader screen and the rich, hand-made vellum on which he was currently transcribing _The Book of Oaths and Fallacies _in dark, silvery ink. It was an engrossing work, debating the nature of promises and lies amongst the pontiffs, presidents and chancellors of a bygone age.

Erkal started at the sound of a loud cough, his hand slipping as a spidery scratch appeared on the page.

"What?" Turning from his work, Erkal found Sheriff Aldus and the stonemason, Tanith, standing beside him. "Aldus? Tanith? I… I'm sorry, I didn't hear you summon the Guard. I'll just…"

Aldus stayed the librarian by placing a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't summon them, Erkel. This is Council business, so you'll not need your robes tonight. We did knock, but the door was open…"

"Well this is meant to be a public library, sheriff, not that anybody reads my books anymore. What's this about?"

"Haven't you noticed the change in the cycle, Erkel" asked Tanith.

"What? No, no, I hadn't," he replied, rising from his high-backed chair and stretching himself. His current body was relatively young, but he'd been failing to give it the exercise it needed in recent years. "As you can see I've been busy. My catalogue gets the better of me sometimes, and I often lose track of the time. So what's happened?

"Have you ever heard of a carnifex?" Aldus asked.

"Hmm, carnifex?" Erkel rubbed his chin, looking around the cluttered room. "Bear with me a moment." He picked up an abstract pile of celluloid pages, squinting and shuffling them as he processed the enquiry. "I'll have it somewhere… the question is, fiche or book?"

"According to the abbot, who's waiting for us at the constabulary, the chap we found in the forest – the Doctor – is a Time Lord carnifex," explained the sheriff, offering what further information he could.

"A _Time Lord_ carnifex? Ah…" this sliver of information was enough to catalyse Erkal's thoughts, "so that would be one of old Rassilon's bastardizations. I transferred most of that stuff into books when I was younger. One of my earlier lives. Hmm."

Erkal crossed the room and into a narrow gap between stacked volumes. After a few moments his head popped back into view. "Through here."

Aldus and Tanith followed, surprised to find that the gap in the books was actually framing an obscured doorway, which led into a second chamber. It was dark, musty and, they learned as Erkel switched on the room's glow-bulb with a vigorous wave of his hand, filled with even more books than the main study.

"Right," said Erkal, running his fingers along a bulging shelf on the far wall, "these are all in chronological order, so it would have been around the time that the Record of Rassilon was created."

"Hmm." Stopping at a particularly old column of books, Erkal's finger ran itself across spine after spine, wiping dust away to reveal their titles and authors. "His fifth term, I think…."

"We haven't got time for this," said Aldus, getting irked by the strange _ba..ba..ba..._ sound that Erkal made as he examined the book stack.

"Here we are. Acts of Rassilon, Volume Five…"

"How many volumes are there exactly?"

"It's alright," said Erkal, "this last book is the glossary."

Pulling out the thickest volume on the shelf, the pendectarian lifted up his knee, propping the open book onto it as he skimmed through its many pages, hastily seeking the reference he required.

"Carnomagus… carnivox… carnivale… carnifex. Here it is. Five: fifteen: page 774."

Nodding upwards and to the right, Erkal indicated the location of the volume as he closed the glossary and hefted it back into place. Reaching over his shoulder, Aldus prised the volume from its stack and carried over to a waist-high pile of books where he set it down and opened it.

"I can't read this," said Aldus, scrunching up his eyes, "it looks like the dance of a dying storm fish."

"What?" Erkal peered around and over the sheriff's arm to see for himself. "Oh, that's one of my early translations. My handwriting wasn't too legible in that body. Allow me."

Moving Aldus aside, Erkal bent over the volume, pinpointing the relevant passage in no time at all.

"Right. It says here… _and so he prepared for the final accounting, and all the past and future foes of Gallifrey were identified; from the Gingh Senh of the time before, to the last-foe-that-shall-not-be-named. And one by one their flesh was rent asunder, their blood reduced, and their very essence realized…"_

"Yes, yes, get on with it," said Aldus, still inexplicably irritated by Erkal and his casual manner. Time on Rendulix was rarely of the essence, and the old librarian was well known for answering the call of the Honour Guard too late to be of any use.

"It tells of how the Record of Rassilon was compiled, ensuring that every time lord and time ship would know the many foes encountered in the great wars, regardless of which time zone or universe they might inhabit. And for those enemies deemed the greatest threat, he added the power of the carnifex."

"Power?" Tanith asked, distracted from a pile of craftsman's guides on the other side of the chamber, "What sort of power?"

"It says it's unique to every enemy, but essentially a time lord's biodata is rewritten to turn him into a killing machine, programmed to become the nemesis of his selected foe, and given whatever power deemed necessary to destroy the enemies of Gallifrey."

"So," asked Tanith, "the Doctor is programmed only to destroy the menks?"

Erkel nodded. "It would appear so."

"Then I was right," said Aldus, reaching forwards and snapping the book shut, almost catching Erkal's fingers in the process. "We have a duty to get back to the constabulary and protect the Doctor. He needs time to heal."

"He is injured?" Tanith asked.

The sheriff nodded again. "Poked his own eyes out. Nothing too serious, but for whatever reason the Doctor isn't happy he's got this power. We need to persuade him to join us, or else we must find a way to make him use the power on our behalf."

"So," asked Tanith, "what do you want from us?"

"Gesar has called for a meeting of the Council. I've already sent Glaster and old Mergan ahead, so that's six out of eleven – which makes us quorate. If we can persuade the others that this Doctor needs to be protected and not executed, or whatever Gesar wants to do, then we three should be able to sway the vote in our favour. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Erkal.

"Anything that puts the monks in their place sounds good to me, Aldus." Tanith added. "All they've ever done is collaborate with the k'thellid. If it weren't for them we'd have destroyed the menks years ago."

"Then we'd best get going," urged the sheriff. "I wouldn't put it past Gesar to try and get to the Doctor behind my back, and however much I hate the abbot, I wouldn't want Malthus to have to carve him up. There's enough blood on my floor already, and it'll take weeks to get rid of the stain."

* * *

Lean and athirst, three slavering hounds surrounded Romana. Despite their animalistic forms, their bodies bore no curves, nor fur. Instead they appeared to be an approximation of the canine form, made up of flat surfaces and folded creases that gave an _impression_ of lithe, curved bodies, yet was entirely made up of straight lines and awkward angles.

Circling her cautiously, their jaws working and their eyes glowing, they seemed to be reacting to Romana's presence.

One by one, their demeanour seemed to soften, and their angular forms shifted from pacing and impatient to sitting and waiting, as if poised to obey her orders. Around them, the strange _unlight_ which had mysteriously illuminated the room faded back into darkness, leaving only the crimson pinpoints of the hounds' eyes.

"Romana?"

From the corridor outside the old crone's voice broke the silence. At the sound of a handle turning, Romana shifted aside and the door opened and light began to flood back into the room. Three pairs of glowing eyes twitched in the darkness, acknowledging Teyamat's arrival.

"Hahaha. I knew it, I knew it," said Teyamat, clapping. She was clearly overjoyed at the outcome of the test. "You see, Romana, I told you there was nothing to fear. The dvora recognized their mistress?"

"Mistress? I already have a dog… of sorts." Romana considered the name of the creatures… _dvora_, Teyamat had called them. The name of her ancestral house. It meant devouring hounds. "What, exactly, would have happened to me if they hadn't… recognized me?"

"But they did, didn't they." The joy in the old crone's face fell. Her new queen was displeased. "Just as I thought."

"Teyamat, _what would they have done?_"

"Eaten you," the old woman sighed. "They're one of the rarer tesserite species; they feed on dimensional energies."

"Meaning they'd have consumed my entire life and I would cease to have ever existed?"

"Only if they were hungry. They do snack. There's… a chance your childhood might have survived."

Romana arched an eyebrow, containing her anger. "They looked pretty hungry to me."

Teyamat tried to dismiss the idea. "That's just the form they take. They always look hungry. But out on the periphery there's plenty for them to feed on."

"And will they return to the periphery?"

"When you will it." Teyamat reached out her hand, unfolding her fist to reveal a glittering green jewel. "Here."

It was a jade stone of some kind, set into a large silver ring. Reaching forwards, Romana took the trinket, examining it in closer detail. As she did so, the attention of the hounds followed the exchange.

"What's this?" The surface of the gem was intricately shaped, inlaid with patterns similar to the symbols she had seen on the silver sash. They were enveloped by a familiar dragon motif.

"The Seal of Pengallia. I've been keeping it until this moment. It's what I used to summon Vervix, Varnax and Vulpix."

"They have names?"

"They were once your loyal servitors, and never left your side. Of course they have names. Now are you ready to find your Doctor's TARDIS?"

"Only if you promise not to give me any more surprises along the way."

Teyamat smiled her toothless smile, relieved that Romana's anger had passed.

"Follow me." Turning back into the corridor, she led a cautious but bemused Romana out towards the shrine.

The three spectral hounds loped along behind them.

* * *

"So…" the Doctor was interrogating K9, "the Protector put humpty together again?"

"Affirmative, master. You are using a metaphor to summarise my explanation."

"Oh, K9, I've missed you," the Doctor said with a broad grin and an edge of sarcasm. He was clearly heartened by K9's arrival, but also reminded of the limitations caused by his current predicament. The smile dropped as his questions continued. "You've no idea how he managed this?"

"Negative, master."

"Never mind," said the Doctor, absently patting K9's head. "I must thank the Protector when I... you said he came with you?"

"Affirmative, master. In spite of the Protector's hospitality, his words suggest that he intends you harm."

The Doctor nodded, understanding. "I suspect the threat he thinks I pose has passed, K9. That power I unleashed, it came from my eyes…"

The Doctor's voice trailed off, causing K9 to pause briefly, waiting for his master's voice to continue. When no words came, it was the robot dog that broke the silence.

"Query: your injuries were self-inflicted?"

"I'm the monster here, K9," said the Doctor. "The Time Lords caused whatever happened here, and as a time lord I've been given the power to make things even worse. I had to act quickly, there's no telling what damage a fully functioning carnifex can do."

"Scans indicate that the energy you released has made the inner sun unstable. There is insufficient data for a complete analysis at this time, but there is a danger that the instability will result in total collapse."

The Doctor disagreed. "It's an artificial sun K9, so I'd expect there to be a regulator somewhere. These people are descended from the Time Lords, and we were the greatest solar engineers in the history of the universe. I suspect the regulator is kept up the mountain, so that's where we need to go."

"Master, if you secure your thermal accessory around my neck, this unit will guide you. You may also wish to unscrew my psychotronic relay transmitter. In the absence of exitonic circuitry it currently serves no purpose, but may be useful to assist you."

"So you're volunteering to be my guide dog, and you want me to use your tail as a white stick? That's absolutely bonkers," the Doctor grinned broadly. "Let's do it."

"Affirmative, master. I have scanned the area and have determined our most effective means of egress from the constabulary. The rocky terrain will prevent this unit from escorting you up the mountain."

"We're not escaping K9. We're confronting. Don't you think it's time I met the other players in this little drama?"

* * *

By the time Aldus, Tanith and Erkal arrived at the constabulary, the Oculus had again shifted phases. The twilight cycle was again upon them, and the visible light of morning had cast itself across the city. Outside the front door, the three elders were shocked to find a small party of mounted k'thellid. The nearest m'n'ch'k twitched and rotated slightly, its jeweled shell and a row of beady eyes glittering as it followed their arrival. Its eyeless rider shifted slightly, its mind's eye observing what its physical body could not.

"What are menks doing here?" Tanith whispered.

"Shush with that talk!" Aldus replied out of the corner of his mouth. With a slight bow of acknowledgement and a broad smile he passed the creatures, skipping up the steps and into the building. The scene inside was not quite as he expected.

Sergeant Malthus was still in control, armed and keeping a cautious eye on his guests. Glaster and Mergan had arrived, and were pacing the room in anticipation of what was to come. Similarly, the priests were still loitering and accounted for. Gesar stood in the centre of the room, deep in conversation with an additional player whose arrival the sheriff hadn't expected. The k'thellid Protector. Its vast bulk obscured almost half of the room, and its sharp mind reacted quickly to Aldus' return.

_I trust we are ready to proceed, sheriff?_

Ready? In a moment the sheriff realized that the odds had shifted against him. As well as Gesar, the Protecor was, as a representative of the k'thellid, a city elder. He may never have bothered attending past meetings, but his status was undeniable. Which meant that if Gaster and Mergan were swayed by Gesar's arguments, the vote could go against the sheriff and his friends.

"Er… yes. Shall we move through to the refectory? I'm sure I can rustle up some refreshments before we start."

"We're not interested in refreshments, Aldus," said Gesar. "This has gone on long enough. We need to decide what to do with the Doctor."

"Did somebody mention my name?"

All heads turned to the doorway that led to the cells. The blind Doctor stood there, his broad grin fixed, his dressing removed, and his empty sockets staring at every man, monk and monster in the room. In one hand he carried an extended metal stick, while in the other he firmly gripped a short length of his scarf, carefully following K9 into the room.

"I think if you're going to make some kind of judgement about me, it's only fair that I should be allowed to present my case, wouldn't you say?"


	15. Book Two Chapter Thirteen

**Thirteen **

Romana and Teyamat made their way towards the centre of the mountain through still-darkened corridors. They had almost reached their destination – the Shrine of Pengallia – when Brothers Felix and K'Meth, the first monks to see them, stepped forward to challenge them.

Abbot Gesar had ordered the brothers to guard the Shrine almost as an afterthought, and they seemed uncomfortable carrying staves and wearing their traditional armour. When Romana and Teyamat appeared, almost invisible beside the combined glow of a burning torch and the three faintly luminous _unshadows,_ their uneasiness with their assignment grew.

_Stay where you are_, broadcast K'Meth.

"Don't you want to see who we are first?" Teyamat called out, stepping closer towards the light. "I wondered how long it would take them to find us," she muttered. "Come on, Romana."

"That's far enough," called Felix. As he did so, the shape of the _unshadows_ became clearer. "How did you… what are those?"

Lowering her torch, Teyamat laughed her most unnerving laugh. But what unsettled the brothers most were the three slavering creatures that vaguely resembled predatory hounds, and which moved silently forwards, pausing several feet ahead of their new mistresses.

"Don't you know the legends, Brother Felix?" Teyamat taunted. The sound of deep, alien growls echoes through the monastery, and Felix became visibly pale. "And what about you, K'Meth?"

The k'thellid brother seemed rooted to the spot. His head was a nasty shade of puce, and Romana got the impression that he was… quivering.

"Keep those things away," said Felix, extending his stave towards the newcomers.

"They won't harm you…" the old crone continued, "so long as you stand aside for your Queen."

"Queen? I don't…"

"These are the dvora; the Devouring Hounds of Pengallia. Don't you recognize them?"

"No… yes. But… that means…"

"Precisely, Brother Felix. This is Our Lady returned, just as I've been saying all along. She has taken the ordeal and she has prevailed; she has placed the Royal Crown upon her head and communed with her past. Stand aside for Majestrix Pengallia, Exarch of Madron."

Faltering for a moment, the brothers considered their position, and stepped aside, lowering their heads and their new leader and her retinue stepped forwards into the shrine.

"There," said Teyamat. "That seems to have done the trick."

"Hmm," Romana paused as she noted the guards' newfound obeisance, "I could get used to this."

* * *

The gentle tug of K9 upon his scarf and the gentle _tap-tap_ of his makeshift stick led the Doctor into the centre of the room. Combining years of practiced oration with what Voltaire had once described as his _charisme étincelant_, the time lord projected his commanding presence onto his newfound audience. 

"For those of you to whom I haven't been introduced, I'm called the Doctor. I'm a time lord, and in equal measure I've come to be known as a troublemaker or a troubleshooter. As you can all…ah… see, and as I cannot, I've taken steps to ensure that I won't be making any more trouble during my stay here."

_What happened to your eyes?_

"Protector K'thellid, I presume?" The Doctor winced as the words echoed like hammer-blows inside his head. "Could you think at me a little less? I'm afraid it's rather painful at the moment. I'm not used to doing this blind, but I want you all to know that I am a man of peace, and that I came here in error, not as an agent of the Time Lords. You may also wish to know that the power used to kill your people was generated without my agreement."

"If you're not an agent of the Time Lords," asked one of the priests, "then how was your power activated?"

"I'm sorry," said the Doctor, "and you are?"

"Abbot Gesar."

"Ah. The big cheese from the top of the hill? Well I'm glad you asked that question. Have you heard of a tychomnemonic array?"

The abbot nodded. "It's a navigational marker, isn't it?"

"Yes." The Doctor agreed. "There's one here, in the forest. I stumbled across it when I first arrived and it infected me with the carnifex power. I've had no control over it since then; it used my eyes to kill, and as you all can see, I've killed my eyes. Without them I have the trigger, but not the weapon."

"That doesn't excuse you," said Gesar, "you're still a time lord."

_And the Time Lords are our enemy._

"But we don't have to be," winced the Doctor. "Where I come from the conflict between our people was a very long time ago, and most of the time lords will have forgotten the k'thellid. I can't forgive their actions, but I can apologize for them."

"If you aren't their agent," asked Councillor Erkal, stepping forwards, "how are you authorized to apologise on their behalf?"

"As it happens, I'm very authorized."

_Explain._

"I'd love to, but… I'm not sure you'd believe me right now."

"Apparently," said Gesar, "the Doctor here holds high office back on Gallifrey. Lord President, no less."

"Ah," said the Doctor, "so you've been talking to Romana. Is she here?"

"Negative, master." K9 noted.

"Your consort is currently in protective custody."

"Consort?" the Doctor laughed. "Romana is many things to me, abbot – travelling companion, reluctant teas maid, critic… but that isn't how _this_ President operates. And it wasn't in any official capacity that I was offering to help you."

_Explain._

"Alright, alright. I am, it has to be said, multitalented. I can help you in a number of ways, from trimming your hedges to valuing your glassware, but I'm also a fully qualified solar engineer. I know your sun is damaged, and I know your technology seems to be breaking down. I also understand the precarious political balance you find yourselves in, and that you'd be better off without the interference of a bunch of xenophobic vigilantes; and I can definitely help you with that."

"What?" Stepping forward to face the Doctor, nose to nose, the red-faced Sheriff Aldus addressed the room. "The Doctor here is my prisoner, and while this is all quite interesting stuff I think visiting hours are over. Sergeant Malthus…"

_Silence, Aldus_, thought the Protector. _Stay where you are, sergeant._

Moving to his commander's side, Sergeant Malthus closed ranks against the monks and the k'thellid. "The sheriff is right. The Doctor is a criminal whose actions need to be properly investigated."

The abbot, however, agreed with the Protector. "Aldus, be quiet. Speak up, Doctor. What do you know of the Honour Guard?"

The Doctor reached forward, fumbling briefly before placing a hand on the sheriff's shoulder. "Will you tell them Aldus, or shall I?"

The sheriff sighed. "Doctor, you're sick and in pain." Turning to face his prisoner, Aldus took the Doctor's wrist, closing his hand around it with a vice like grip. "You need help," he urged. "Let me…"

"Do not move," said K9 sharply, trundling forwards with his laser extended, "or I shall be forced to incapacitate you."

"Thank you, K9," said the Doctor as Aldus released him. "Firstly, I'd like to say that Aldus here has been a first rate host. Hospitable, considerate, and an excellent chef but, as you're all no doubt aware, his competence as a leader is sadly lacking."

"Do you have a point, Doctor?"

"I always have a point, abbot. Your beloved sheriff swings both ways. Poacher and Gamekeeper; cop and robber; sheriff and Lord Commander of the Honour Guard."

There was a long pause as the accusation sank in. The sheriff's slumped shoulders and downcast eye, coupled with the look of shock and resignation in his sergeant's face, removed any lingering doubts.

"Aldus, I always thought you were an oaf, but… is this true?"

_It is true, Gesar. I sense it._

The Doctor continued. "What you have to understand, is that Aldus here is only a symptom of the problems you've all created. You, abbot, sit in your ivory tower up the mountain while you, Protector, keep your head buried under the sand. Aldus is such a poor excuse for a vigilante leader you'd have noticed if you'd paid attention. I don't say this often about my enemies, but deep down the sheriff _is_ a reasonable man. He just holds the wrong beliefs, and likes bashing alien brains out."

Near the front doorway, Councillors Erkal and Tanith were looking around, furtively. Nudging his colleague, the pendectarian carefully slid a small item out from his folded robes, passing it into the stonemason's hand.

"Sergeant Malthus, arrest the sheriff," instructed the abbot.

"Ah. Malthus is his accomplice, I'm afraid," said the Doctor as Councillor Tanith glanced down uncertainly at a small, antiquated staser. He looked questioningly as Erkal's eyes urged him to act. Cautiously, he raised the blaster, uncertain of what to do next. Shoot the Doctor or his dog? Silence Aldus and Malthus?

"Another desperately nice chap," said the Doctor of Malthus, oblivious to the unfolding conspiracy around him, "except for his love of the boot. There's another called Verus. I could identify a few more, but only by sight."

Across the room from Tanith, the sheriff could see the weapon in his hand and the uncertainty on his face. Seizing the opportunity, Aldus barrelled forwards as a stray staser blast was unleashed into the ceiling. He ploughed through the monks and past the councillors, and a moment later Malthus moved to join him.

"Stop him," cried the abbot as the sergeant shoved him aside.

K9 unleashed a cone of red light, which enveloped the sergeant. Malthus crumpled to the floor as Aldus, followed by Councillor Tanith, fled from the room. Mobilised into action, several of the monks attempted to pursue them, but a frail and flustered Pendectarian Erkal blocked their way, apparently overcome by the flurry of activity.

* * *

The brilliant blue Oculus-generated light that now filled Pengallia's shrine gave way to the softer, whiter glow of the TARDIS interior as Romana, Teyamat and the dvora entered the console room. 

"Right," said Romana, striding over to the navigational panel, which was just as she had left it. "Look at this mess."

Sweeping wires and exposed components aside, Romana flicked a switch and pulled out a small keypad that formed part of the coordinate programmer. She then moved across to the scanner controls, where she attempted to fix the Doctor's position.

She cursed.

"What's wrong?" Teyamat asked, stretching up to try and peer over her tall companion's shoulder.

"I can't find the Doctor." Romana explained. "All these life signs are too similar."

"Do you know where he might be?" The old crone asked. "If I know his approximate location I might be able to help."

"No, I…" Romana desperately tried to think of where the Doctor might be. Then she considered where he shouldn't be, which would probably turn out to be where he was. "Wait," she said, "do you have robots on this planet?"

"Robots? No, why?"

"Good." Romana shifted the focus of her search onto K9. "What about transmitters? Which parts of the electromagnetic spectrum do you use?"

"We don't use any, Romana. The nature of the Oculus prevents it."

"Of course," Romana smiled, "it must shift through the spectrum as the day progresses. K9 will constantly be adjusting his receptors to keep out the interference. The chamber outside's bright again, so we're in the day cycle. I'll try radio waves."

Turning an old and anachronistic dial, Romana began to search the electromagnetic spectrum for signs of the little dog's presence.

"Well?"

"He's not responding," said Romana, "but he appears to be actively scanning. I think I've got a fix." Romana transferred K9's coordinates to the programmer, and reached for the dematerialisation switch. At the centre of the TARDIS console the clear cylinder and the crystal rods which formed the apex of the ship's time rotor began to rise, fall and rotate, accompanied by the fain wheeze and groan of dimensional displacement.

No sooner did the dematerialisation begin, than it stopped. The TARDIS had gone nowhere.

"I don't understand," muttered Romana, scrolling through the pages of on-screen data which played back the dematerialisation process. "Micro-jumps," she concluded.

"What?" Teyamat looked at the display.

"The TARDIS doesn't do micro-jumps very well," said Romana.

"Can you fix it?"

"Not without…" Romana paused, and then smiled a superior smile. "Why not? The Doctor isn't here to stop me."

Reaching forward, she pressed a black button on the keypad, and a moment later a small black cartridge was ejected from the console. Removing it, Romana slipped the object into her pocket.

"What's that?"

"The TARDIS Log. Now all I have to do is reattach the isochronic regulator, reset relative mean time and…"

"We're away?"

"We will be," Romana said, looking down at her beautiful-but-grubby robes, "but I think I'll need a bath and a change of clothes first."

* * *

With the chaos of Aldus' escape behind them, Gesar and the Protector's attention had returned to the Doctor, who, along with K9, was now surrounded by stave-bearing monks, whose determination not to lose another prisoner went completely unnoticed by the Doctor. 

"Well," said Gesar, regaining his composure, "finding out about Aldus has certainly made this trip worthwhile, but it doesn't change the purpose of my journey. So, Doctor, are you ready to surrender yourself to us?"

The Doctor grinned. "Not to you, abbot. While I'm sure your hospitality will be as warm and appealing as it has been to my friend Romana, I'm afraid I must instead place myself at the mercy of Protector K'thellid."

"What?"

"I've taken k'thellid lives, abbot, and therefore it's the Protector's authority that I must recognize."

_You will be treated fairly, Doctor, _thought the Protector.

"K9 has assured me that you will be reasonable, Protector, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't pay for my unwitting crime."

"Wait," the abbot continued. "I want him searched first."

As two of the monks moved forward to examine the Doctor, K9 half-rotated, and his nose-laser clearly pointed in their direction. "Keep back."

"It's alright, K9," said the Doctor, beckoning them forwards. "I have nothing to hide."

"Check his pockets," instructed the abbot, as a number of familiarly unfamiliar objects were removed from his coat

"What's that?" Gesar asked as one of the monks placed Malthus' tube of healing salve onto the table beside him.

The Doctor shrugged, pointing to his eyes. "I'm supposed to be able to answer that question?"

Stepping forward, the abbot examined the object, removing its lid and taking a sniff. "Healing salve," he concluded. "So, you get taken down into the undercity, heal your eyes while nobody's looking, and then you can go on another killing spree, burning mind after mind unchecked by those of us immune to your power."

The Doctor shook his head. "That's not my intention. I'm assured that salve will take weeks to heal me, and I sincerely hope this matter will be settled far sooner than that."

"I disagree," said the abbot, turning to the Protector. "I believe this is a trick. The Doctor has nothing to offer, and remains the greatest threat that we face. He must be executed immediately, for the good us all."

_I think not, Gesar,_ the Protector argued, _do you not remember the words of Pengallia? Above all, you must keep peace._

"That's the peace with the k'thellid, Protector. Not the Time Lords."

_You were Time Lords once, Gesar. We must hear the Doctor's terms._

"No, I'm sorry Protector, I can't allow this."

On the abbot's instructions, the Monks of Madronal moved forward, extending their staves.

The screaming wail of air displaced by matter slowly filled the room as the tall, dark, rectangular shape of an battered blue police box took solid form, interposing itself between the monks and the Doctor. Breaking into a wide grin, the Doctor edged backwards against the solid shape of the TARDIS exterior, reaching behind himself to feel for the handle, which would give him entry into his beloved ship. As he did so, his face fell slightly as he realized that the door was on the other side of the box.

* * *

Inside the TARDIS, Romana adjusted her new collar. She had plaited and tied back her hair before slipping into a silver, high-collared body suit she'd found in the TARDIS wardrobe. Transferring her newly acquired sash and the best of the accompanying jewellery, she added her fur-lined, white hooded cloak to complete the picture. Certain that she looked every inch the Empress, she turned her attention to the monitor screen. She could see that the Doctor was in danger, with his back to the sensors. K9 had positioned himself between her friend and the abbot, who seemed determined to administer rough some justice. 

"I've been waiting for this for a very long time," she said, smugly, as she prepared to activate the door control.

"Don't go out there, Romana," said Teyamat, who was also inspecting the view screen. "It's too dangerous for you."

"What?" Romana was confused. She had the sash, the hounds and the regal bearing. She was certain she would win Gesar over this time.

"Do you see… there?" Teyamat pointed to the large pink octopus, or decapus, which sat behind the armed monks, filling much of the room. "It's the K'thellid Protector itself."

"One of K'thannid's descendants. Ah," monsters out for revenge were the last things Romana wanted to deal with, "but the Doctor…"

"He will be alright," said Teyamat, "Trust me."

"Trust? We still have to sort that out after your little trick. What do you suggest?"

Teyamat pointed to the three near-tangible forms that lay around the TARDIS console. As if on cue, Vervix, Varnax and Vulpix pricked up their otherworldly ears.

"Send out the hounds."


	16. Book Two Chapter Fourteen

**Fourteen **

As the monks moved towards him, the Doctor switched K9's tail-cum-stick into the hand which also gripped the tip of his scarf. Gently, he edged his way around the side of the TARDIS, getting closer and closer to the door, which was already beginning to open. Between him and the armed monks stood K9, periodically shifting his position to acquire the best angle from which to fire his stunner.

"Get away from that TARDIS, Doctor." Gesar ordered as his men edged closer. As he spoke, the abbot spotted some movement at the edge of his vision. His hearts fluttered as three sleek, spectral hounds shifted into view.

"What?" Squinting slightly, recognition dawned upon Gesar. "The hounds? They've released the hounds."

_Hounds? The dvora?_ Across the room, Protector K'thellid shared Gesar's knowledge of the predators that had entered the room._ How is this possible, _it wondered,_ and who exactly has released them, abbot?_

"Teyamat and the Doctor's accomplice."

From the corner of the room, Councillor Erkal whistled. "The Devouring Hounds, eh? Vicious, but loyal." Gently slipping behind the Protector's bulk, the cautious librarian chose to watch from a distance as the dvora emerged from the TARDIS, stepping between the Doctor and his attackers.

As his sensors adjusted to the their presence, K9 shifted again, uncertain of the danger posed by the strange hounds. Extending a more lethal weapon, he emitted a low electronic growl in an effort to keep the creatures at bay. Baring their alien fangs and folding up their snouts to approximate canine snarls, the dvora growled at K9 in return.

"What's going on, K9?" The Doctor asked.

"The situation is under control, master," said K9. "Continue into the TARDIS, I will protect you."

The Doctor's fingers found the last corner, and he shifted himself sideways and into the open doorway, preparing to duck inside.

_Doctor, you must not leave._

"I'm sorry, Protector. I'll keep my promise to you, but I don't have much choice here. You don't seem to have much influence over these monks, so I'd best be seeing you."

_Wait!_

The Doctor slipped into the TARDIS, the end of his scarf slipping from his hand as he did so. The dvora followed, backing stealthily into the ship, their hackles raised as they growled menacingly at K9, whose own entry was blocked as they disappeared inside. The little robot trundled forwards as the door closed behind them.

K9 was forced to stay and watch as the TARDIS dematerialised. Behind him, the Protector seemed incandescent with rage, its skin flashing white and purple as it broadcast its thoughts across the room.

_Only Pengallia can command the hounds, Gesar! What have you been keeping from me?_

"I'm not keeping anything from you…"

_Our accordance requires the full and frank disclosure of information, Gesar, as expressed by your Queen on the day the treaty between us was established. Or had you forgotten?_

"Of course I haven't forgotten. I've hardly had time to update you about our situation."

_And we haven't the time for this…._

"Query." K9 pushed forwards, interposing himself between the Protector and the abbot. "If haste and trust are required, would you not be able to share your thoughts?"

The Protector's hue paled. _The robot is right. You should open your memories to me._

"What? You listen to that thing?"

_I would, _said the Protector._ K9 saved the k'thellid from suffering far greater casualties. His actions are the_ _foundation for my belief in the Doctor._

Gesar seemed genuinely surprised. If the Doctor was genuine…

"Very well. It can do no harm trying." The abbot cleared his mind, reaching out with his thoughts. "Contact?"

_Contact_, said the Protector, latching on to the abbot's telepathic signal.

"Wait," Councillor Erkal stepped forwards, eager to share the flow of information. Closing his eyes he slipped into a telepathic groove of his own. "Contact."

* * *

Half a city away, Aldus and Tanith ran through the streets, using their superior knowledge of its many alleyways and abandoned buildings to evade their half-hearted pursuers. As Aldus had noted earlier, these monks weren't trained to do his job, and despite the Doctor's accusations, he wasn't really _that_ incompetent. The time lord was obviously brilliant, and the sheriff simply hadn't anticipated that such a person might turn up and expose his deepest secrets.

Pausing to confirm that the pursuit was over, the former sheriff turned to his co-conspirator. "Well, Tanith, it looks like we might be renegades."

"What about Malthus and Erkal?"

Aldus shook his head. "There's nothing we can do to help them right now. I don't think Erkal was exposed, but Malthus will be alright."

With their path clear, Aldus led them across a small square to the most central point in the city: the old memorial tower. Built as a monument to those who fell in battle, it was a great marble clock whose stained and pitted face had long ago been divided into the sixteen phases used to measure the old Demosian day. It was from this memorial that the name of the fallen had been adopted. As each of them breathed their last, it was Tanith's job to inscribe their names in the old style, adding to the thousands that already graced its six sides.

"I need you to call together as many of the Guard as you can from the east of the city," explained Aldus. "I'll cover the west. Tell them to gather here. All mounted, with full arms and full regalia. Do you understand?"

Tanith nodded. "Yes, commander."

"Excellent. Oh…" as they shook hands and turned towards the different parts of the city, Aldus was struck with a sudden thought. "…Tanith?"

"Yes, commander?"

"I want you to drop in on Doctor Tavic when you pass him by. Make sure he attends to Melosa until we return. She'll die with worry if Malthus isn't home soon."

* * *

As the Doctor backed into the TARDIS, Romana was unprepared for what he had been through during their time apart. Turning to enter the console room, he used one hand to partially cover his dressing, and another to wave his stick around the room, attempting to find his bearings. Around him, and in complete silence, the three dvora distanced themselves, retreating behind their mistresses as the blind Doctor blundered further into the room.

"Doctor…" Romana had planned their exchange of pleasantries; her barbed remarks leading them into her revelation that this was going to be goodbye. She had decided to stay upon K'thellid, or Rendulix, and fulfil her destiny as the last scion of Pengallia.

"What happened to your eyes?" The sight of a haggard, wounded Doctor beaming a fake grin in what Romana thought was her general direction, instantly threw her plans into disarray. She stepped forwards to support him, but the stick 'accidentally' batted her away as the Doctor turned this way and that, trying to establish his location.

"I happened to my eyes," he said to the view screen. "They'll grow back."

_The Doctor had done this to himself?_

Romana was… well, she couldn't tell if she were devastated or incensed. How could he do such a thing? She struggled for something to say, and ended up asking him about his retrolental cryptocytes.

"My what?" The Doctor was thrown by such an odd question. Odd by Romana's standards at least.

"You really should keep up with your regenerative upgrades, Doctor," she babbled. "These days' losing your eyes is tantamount to murder."

"And I thought I had trouble understanding myself! I don't suppose you have my hat do you?"

"Your hat?" Romana looked around the console room, spotting his battered velvet hat hanging on the stand next to the TARDIS door. Retrieving it, she passed it to the Doctor. After the briefest of touches, his own hand moved from the hat to her hand, which he suddenly and unexpectedly grabbed onto.

"Thank you," he said, "now could you help me over to the console."

Complying with the Doctor's request, Romana found herself dismissed again the moment he reached his destination. After putting on his hat and tugging the brim down over his dressing, he leaned upon the TARDIS for support. Playing his fingers across the environmental panel, he then took a half step to his left. Moving to the next panel, he briefly fingered the door control before taking another step, lining himself up with the navigational controls.

"Why don't you let me do that …" Romana moved to the Doctor's side, but he nudged her away.

"The planet's in grave danger, Romana," he said, "and I…"

His probing fingers discovered an open panel and a gaping hole giving access to a cornucopia of exposed circuits. He frowned.

"What's this?" The Doctor held up a slim silver cylinder, from which two unattached wires were dangling.

"That," Romana swallowed, "would be the Modal Compensator".

The Doctor tutted.

"I thought as much," he said. "As you've reminded me on several occasions, this is one the most important TARDIS components there is. It should _never_ be disconnected."

"I had no…" Romana began, defensively.

"So," the Doctor cut her off, "what's it doing in my hand?"

"I was going to put it right, but…"

"But I happened." Teyamat, who had been quiet until now, stepped between the two time lords. "The abbot and I summoned your TARDIS and delayed the Lady Romana from completing her repairs."

"Oh, hello. I'm the Doctor…" he leaned forwards, sniffing at the old crone, "… you smell old." He announced, rudely. "Very old. Is your memory intact?"

The old woman burst into a long and raucous cackle, which made the Doctor start, dropping the compensator, which fell straight into the open hole, rattling and bouncing as it fell out of reach. His face fell, until he realised how many hours it would take Romana to retrieve it.

"Mine is the most intact memory on this planet," Teyamat laughed.

"Excellent," the Doctor beamed as some of his humour returned, "we can catch up, later." Then, abruptly, he turned back to his companion.

"Romana, what's your plan?"

"Why… to rescue you, of course, Doctor."

"Yes, well, you've been there, done that, left K9 behind _again_. I wouldn't mind, but he was proving particularly useful this time around."

"_Me_?" Romana bit. "I've _never_ left K9 behind. You, on the other hand…"

"Yes, whatever." The Doctor cut Romana short and turned again towards Teyamat. "What about the Oculus?"

"The Oculus?" The crone looked perplexed.

"Yes. K9 tells me it's unstable after I unleashed a rather nasty blast of energy into the atmosphere."

"So that _was_ you," Teyamat said, "you do have the carnifex power."

"Yes, yes." The Doctor said dismissively. "You think I'd pluck my eyes out for fun? We need to repair the Oculus. It's artificial, like the planet's ecosystem, so there must be some kind of control."

"I'd noticed the accelerated cycle," Romana interrupted, "I'd planned to look into it as soon as…"

"Well," he snapped, "it's moved up the pecking order now, so let's not dwell on our priorities. Teyamat," he raised his voice, "where is the control?"

"The Oculus _is_ the control, Doctor." She explained. "If you want to repair it, then we'll have to go inside."

"Inside? A hollow sun inside a hollow planet inside an invisible sun trapped in a pocket dimension?"

"Yes," the crone nodded. "When the fallen came to K'thellid, it was a world of superheated water. Only the mental and temporal powers of their Great Archon could keep its environment stable enough to support k'thellid life. The planet drew its energy from sun beyond its outer surface."

The Doctor nodded. "I know what the planet used to be like. I've been here before. A long, long time ago."

"Doctor," Romana interjected, "this planet's been in a time loop for two-and-a-half million years. How could you possibly have been here before?"

"Lets just say that my Modal Compensator wasn't working then either. Now…" he turned back to the old crone, "what was your name again?"

"Teyamat."

"Teyamat… yes. You were telling us about the Oculus."

"Without being able to chronoform the planet, Pengallia created an artificial ecosystem to replace the function of the K'thellid Archon."

"Pengallia?" The Doctor turned the name around. "Pengallia? Wasn't she that mad President with the palatial TARDIS, the unstoppable army, three dogs and a Mexxonian Dragon?"

"Doctor!" Romana snapped.

"Yes, yes, later. So how did she stabilize the planet and create the Oculus?"

"The Oculus," Teyamat explained, "used to be the palatial TARDIS."

* * *

Erkal had always feared that his thirst for knowledge would be his undoing, and his exposure to the thoughts of Gesar and the Protector made that day seem much closer than he had ever expected. The Protector's mind was the strongest he had ever encountered, surrounded by a great impenetrable wall of thoughts through which the abbot's recent experiences were permeating. Trained in matters of the mind, the abbot's focused thoughts were clear and uncluttered, knitting together the facts and opinions that he had formed over the last couple of days. It was… enlightening.

As Gesar's recollection of Aldus' escape was replayed, Erkal broke his connection. With his thoughts under his own control once more, he breathed an inward sigh of relief. His involvement had gone unnoticed, and he was not suspected.

As his natural senses returned to him, Erkal looked around the constabulary. Besides the abbot and the Protector, two other councilors, had now arrived. Two of the five monks who had come down from the monastery were busying themselves with an inspection of the premises while their brothers pursued Aldus and Tanith. They must, he concluded, be looking for clues to help identify the rest of the Honour Guard. _Like him._

"Gentlemen," he called, clapping his hands together to get their attention, "we need to make haste. There'll be plenty of time to chase the sheriff and his accomplices. There are more pressing matters to attend to."

"He's right," said Gesar after taking a moment to recover from his exertions. "We need to return to Mount Madronal.

_So, _the Protector mused,_ Romana would appear to be the reincarnation of Pengallia._

The abbot nodded. "If the hounds have been released, it's the only conclusion I can draw. I believe this Doctor must have intended to use her as a pawn."

The Protector wasn't convinced._ For what purpose?_

"The Time Lords must need us," suggested Erkal, "or Pengallia. Perhaps the wars haven't ended, and their treachery has left them vulnerable and exposed."

_Perhaps, but the Doctor bears us no ill will._

"G'thon said the same about Romana," noted the abbot.

"The master and mistress have been forced to travel randomly through time and space," said K9, interrupting. "They are not in control of where, or when, they will arrive."

"You think they've left us, then, robot?" Erkal was intrigued by the small robot. It appeared to be a biomorph based on an animal form similar to the dvora.

"Negative. The Doctor expressed a desire to restore the Oculus to full working order. He will endeavour to make repairs before his departure."

"If Romana has survived the Test of the Devouring Hounds," added Gesar, "then it is certain Teyamat is with them."

_Agreed. She will guide them to the Shrine._

"And," concluded the abbot, "into Pengallia's TARDIS."

The Protector started to flush with anger. _It is not for them to intervene._

"But if she's Pengallia reborn...?"

_Their journey must not be completed without us,_ it insisted. _The Well and that which is contained within are our responsibility. Neither Romana or the Doctor will be prepared for what they will encounter there._

"I agree," said Gesar. "We must return to the monastery immediately."

"Query. The master and mistress are in danger?" asked K9.

"The Oculus contains the Well of Deep Time," the abbot explained, "which is where Pengallia imprisoned Great K'thannid."

_K'thannid,_ said the Protector, picking up the thread, _was my… predecessor, but of greater age and power. As the sworn enemy of Pengallia, the treaties that held the k'thellid and the fallen together did not bind him._

"Query." K9 processed the information. "If their archon is restored to them, would the k'thellid not welcome its return?"

_There can be only one Protector, K9. The archon's return would force us into conflict._

"Supplemental query. Do you have the means to restore the Oculus without the Doctor's help?"

The abbot paused to consider the question. "We'd need to use the Doctor and Romana's TARDIS to get us there, but otherwise yes, I believe we do."

"Then this unit will offer what assistance it can to secure the safe return of the TARDIS."

_I can prevent their TARDIS from completing its journey until we can reach the shrine,_ the Protector added, preparing itself to communicate with the k'thellid.

"Ahem." Erkal cleared his throat loudly, doing his best to make his presence known.

_Councillor Erkal?_

"If you don't mind me saying," he continued, clearly not caring whether they minded or not, "these are matters for consideration by the Council."

Drawing himself up to his full height and gripping the lapels of his robes, the pendectarian moved into the centre of the room, commanding attention from the two leaders. "We may be somewhat short in numbers, but I can't allow you to make a decision without representation from the City Elders. Or have you forgotten the requirements of the accordance?"

The abbot sneered. "Really, Erkal. This is a time for action, not debate."

The Protector disagreed. _Councillor Erkal is correct_, Gesar. You are, of course, welcome to join us.

Erkal bowed. "Thank you, Protector. Perhaps I might accompany the robot."

_Agreed. The robot will require assistance to the journey._

"The robot is designated K9," said K9.

"Very well," Erkal smiled, giving the odd little biomorph a patronizing tap on the head, "K9 it is then. This TARDIS of your master's, what model is it?"


	17. Book Two Chapter Fifteen

**Fifteen **

Being the nearest person to the door, Councillor Erkal was rather surprised to find that he was the last to leave the constabulary. One moment Protector K'thellid was discussing their journey up the mountain, and the next it appeared to slip into unconsciousness as its amorphous body seemed to slump on its large levitating palanquin, the colour draining from its flesh. At the point where its head joined with its tentacles, the skin bulged slightly, and an eerie glow began to spread through its skin. Splaying its ten appendages out like rigid stalks, it appeared to generate a strange vibrating hum, which quickly filled the room. Glancing around, Erkal could see interest in the faces of Gesar and the monks, but no undue concern. Whatever the alien was doing, it wasn't entirely unexpected.

"K9," he whispered to his new travelling companion, "what's going on?"

"Localised temporal manipulation," replied K9, adjusting his speaker volume so only the librarian could hear. "The Protector can reverse local time with pinpoint precision, as you can observe."

The hum faded as the external wall began to deconstruct itself for the second time that cycle. Whitewash gave way to bare plaster, and the plaster thinned to reveal bare bricks, which themselves cascaded out of existence as a large opening appeared. On the other side Erkal could see three monks, returning from their pursuit of Aldus and Tanith, and several mounted k'thellid, their m'n'ch'k steeds waiting patiently.

"Are we heading up the mountain on foot?" Erkal asked, looking around as he stepped outside. Behind him, the wall rebuilt itself.

"We don't have steeds," said Gesar, breaking away from a brief chat with the returning monks. "We weren't expecting to return so quickly. Do you know where we can get some?"

Erkal nodded, indicating a stable door on the other side of the alley.

As Erkal and the monks prepared their steeds, Protector K'thellid's form changed again. Its tentacles relaxed as the bulk returned to its torso. The Protector's body regained its ruddy complexion as it established contact with the collective minds of the k'thellid and the m'n'ch'k, relaying the command to find and stop the Doctor's TARDIS from arriving at its destination.

* * *

Time inside the TARDIS passed slowly. To ease the Doctor's restless and, frankly, intolerable mood, Romana had suggested that he and Teyamat get acquainted while she concentrated on the repairs she had to make before they returned to Pengallia's shrine. Surprisingly, the Doctor had taken up her suggestion, asking the old woman to help him 'sort himself out'.

With a final burst from the sonic screwdriver, Romana reattached the modal compensator before leaning back to admire her handiwork. Across the room on the other side of the console, she was startled to see the Doctor casually leaning against the open doorway that led deep into the labyrinthine interior of the TARDIS. With his arms folded and his legs crossed, he was smiling broadly.

In all their time together, Romana had never seen the Doctor dressed in anything other than the greatcoat, long scarf, and floppy hat. Now all that remained was the hat, tilted forward, not over a bloodstained dressing, but instead casting its shadow over a pair of mirrored shades. Their round lenses reflected the white light of the console room. The greatcoat had been replaced by a short light brown tweed jacket with hand-stitched elbow patches, while the absent scarf seemed to have been replaced by a rainbow coloured kaftan, casually slung over the Doctor's shoulder. In place of a makeshift walking stick, he now carried a silver tipped cane, purpose built and completely out of place.

"What do you think?" The Doctor grinned.

"Hideous," said Romana, pleased to see that his mood had stabilized, "which I don't mind, since it will make me look even better. Are those glasses for effect or…"

"Optical bypass," he explained, crossing over to join Romana at the central console. "Late twenty-second century Earth. I think they based the design on dalek technology. I'm still blind, but the lenses relay an optical image into a completely different part of the brain. It'll take time for me to adjust, and my vision will be limited, but at least I won't feel completely useless."

"Where's Teyamat?"

The Doctor turned back to the doorway, from which a hollow squeaking sound could be heard. Moments later, a tall, high-backed chair edged its way into the room, towering over the old woman. On it's seat rested a large open packet of cheese nachos.

"I'm here, Romana," said Teyamat, huffing and puffing as she slowly pushed the chair from behind.

"Doctor, how could you?" Romana was appalled, dashing across the room to help bring the chair into the room.

"Ah. I'm still slightly blind, you see," said the Doctor, tapping his new mirror-shades before glancing around the room and pointing. "Over there should do it."

"I thought you were still blind," Romana retorted, setting the chair down on the opposite side of the room.

"_Slightly_," corrected the Doctor as he crossed the room, "but it is very bright in here, and I have excellent spatial awareness."

Teyamat snatched up the nachos and retreated as the Doctor headed towards the chair. En route, his leg brushed against one of the dvora, which responded with a gentle but insistent growl.

"What's this?" He asked, reaching down to feel the creature.

"Don't!" Romana warned, as the Doctor's hand passed through its cold, ethereal form. "It's a dvora… a devouring hound."

"Ah," the Doctor cautiously withdrew his frost-covered hand. "I wondered why K9 didn't follow me. They must really have put his nose out of joint. Where are you keeping the dragon? I'm not sure the swimming pool will be big enough."

"There isn't any dragon, Doctor," Romana sighed, "just the dvora and Pengallia's TARDIS, when we get there."

"That's the trouble with relics," said the Doctor as he settled into his chair, "you can never complete the set. Still, it's nice to see you've been busy while I was out for my constitutional."

"Well, while you've been slave-driving poor Teyamat, I've managed to retrieve and reinstall the modal compensator. It won't work properly until we refit the isochronic regulator, but at least we won't end up in any parallel timelines by mistake."

"Always a bonus," smiled the Doctor, "so are we all ready?"

"I am if you are," smiled Romana, as she reached forwards to resume the materialisation process.

Nothing happened.

* * *

Already in the middle of the yellow shift, the Oculus blazed brightly over the city as, for the first time in their long history, the Honour Guard gathered under in daylight.

Hooded riders came from every direction, their long lilac robes and glittering armour filled up the city's small memorial quad as they gathered in the shadow of the old memorial tower. Even when the cycles were regular, the time reckoned by old clock bore no relation to the time shifts they experienced on Rendulix. It was a weathered old anachronism that told Demosian rather than local time, and was revered by the fallen as the last symbol of their life before the war. Passing through their loosely packed ranks, the Lord Commander of the Honor Guard made his way through the murmuring crowd. For most of those assembled, their purpose was a complete mystery. The great nautilus horn had not been blown, and it was unlikely that any menks would be up and about while the Oculus was so bright in the sky.

Climbing the few steps that led to the plinth that formed the base of the old tower, Commander Aldus turned to face his brothers. Raising his gloved hands high, he settled the Guard, calling for their silence.

"Brothers…" he said, his voice softening, "lads… today is the most momentous day in the Guard's history. Not since we first came to this godsforsaken world have the Honour Guard assembled in the open," he reached up, gripping his hood firmly, and yanked it away, to collective gasps of shock and surprise from his fellow vigilantes, "and never with our faces exposed, so that all can look upon us, and know who, and what, we are."

Commander Aldus smoothed down the white hair that had been messed up by his hood, and unconsciously stroked his thick silver beard. His good eye glared defiantly over the heads of his men, picking out the handful of onlookers that had begun to gather in a rough circle at the edge of the quad.

"Ours," he spat, "should have been a noble history. We were meant for a triumphant return to the home world, the victors of a war in which we fought to preserve our way of life. Instead, we were exiled and forced to celebrate our successes in darkness, reliving the war we thought we'd won, against an enemy that grows forever stronger, while our numbers dwindle."

"Well, brothers, the time for secrecy is past. I need you to cast off these masks and face me like the Honour Guard of old. Fierce, proud, and with your faces naked to your enemies."

The crowd stirred, with many of the guard following their Commander's example, while others hesitated, uncertain of why things should suddenly be different. Raising his battle club, stained with the blood of a hundred menks, Aldus continued his address.

"These have been our weapons for as long as we can remember. Crude and simple, but not likely to run out of power nor lose their edge. These," he threw the club to the ground, "are the weapons of a skulking mob. We deserve better. I asked you to come in full regalia today, because the time has come for us to draw our swords and shoulder our rifles once more. Today, the eternal war ends."

On cue, Aldus unsheathed the keen blade strapped to his waist, and unholstered the ancient blaster that had hung, unused for many years, at his side. Most of the men had now shed their hoods, and many of them were changing weapons. Some, however, needed more than simple orders to make them follow his example.

"The Time Lords," he explained, "have returned to Rendulix. There is a carnifex among us, and he has within him the power to destroy all k'thellid who stand in his way. Even now he is being held against his will by the treacherous Abbot of Madronal who, as we speak, is returning to the mountain with the king of all menks, the K'thellid Protector."

This caused cheers and curses to be uttered in equal measure, as the last of the hoods were removed as a mixture of swords, scythes, blasters, and rifles were shaken defiantly across the quad.

"For millennia we've been waiting for the Protector to show his ugly pink face, while he's been hiding, quivering in fear while his menks have grown and grown in numbers. Well, the carnifex has drawn him out into the open where we failed, and now it's time for us to make good our most ancient oaths. The Great Accordance has to end, and with it the so-called peace between the fallen and the k'thellid."

As Aldus paused for breath, a cheer rose among the Guard. Buoyed by their support, and by the growing crowd of onlookers who also seemed to be rallying to his speech, he pressed on.

"Men," he continued, "I want you to mount up, bear arms, and join me in an attack. Not upon a handful of menks, but on the Abbot of Madronal and the K'thellid Protector himself. We outnumber them, and without their leader, the menks will be helpless, just as they were when Our Lady defeated their Great Archon. They'll be vulnerable on the mountain, and if we succeed, we can press on to the top of Mount Madronal itself, and deal with every one of the bastard _man-menks_ we've seen there."

The Guard were well and truly spurred into action, heading for their steeds and readying themselves to ride out of the city, in the wake of their Lord Commander.

Amid the cheers and support, Aldus' pink eye shed a single tear, as a strong sense of pride swelled within him. This was _his_ moment, and the fallen would rise up and take control on his command.

* * *

"So what _was_ that exactly?" The Doctor asked, as Romana checked and rechecked the instrumentation. "I didn't hear the time rotor move."

"It didn't," said an exasperated Romana, "it's… frozen."

"Frozen?" Abstractly swishing his kaftan over one of his shoulders, the Doctor rose from his chair before joining Romana at the console. Behind him, like a wizened little girl, Teyamat settled into the chair, checking it for comfort before she tucked greedily into her nachos.

"Look, there's nothing you can do, Doctor. It looks like an external force has been exerted on us, in much the same way that Teyamat and the abbot diverted the TARDIS to Mount Madronal."

Romana stressed her last words, deliberately seeking the old crone's attention. Teyamat looked up from her nachos, her smile fading. "Not even we could affect a TARDIS while it's in transit," she said. "That would take the power of…"

"A god," the Doctor completed for her. "K'thannid must be doing this."

"No," said Romana. "This force isn't keeping us in temporal orbit, it's stopping us from materialising back on the planet."

"And we can't alter our coordinates mid-flight," added the Doctor. "This is the work of someone who knows how a TARDIS operates."

"It must be the Protector," said Teyamat. "He can call on the minds of every k'thellid on the planet. If it's not K'thannid, only they could generate such force."

"That covers the who," said Romana. "What about the why?"

"A delaying tactic," suggested the Doctor. "They can't keep us here indefinitely, and they know what we hope to achieve. With Gesar I'd put it down to a lack of trust, but something about the Protector bothers me…"

"Perhaps we would be better staying where we are and waiting," suggested Teyamat. "Romana's plan did seem quite risky"

"Risk and Romana don't usually sit well together," said the Doctor, pausing. "What was the plan, by the way?"

"We materialise next to Pengallia's sarcophagus, force our way _inside_ her TARDIS interior…"

"Time-ram our way inside, you mean?"

"Not quite," said Teyamat. "Romana shares Pengallia's biodata."

"She does?"

The old woman nodded. "She can use the telepathic link to bypass its defences."

"She can?" The Doctor frowned. "It looks like you were busier than I thought, Romana. I think we need to huddle in a corner and play catch-up before we leave the TARDIS, don't you?"

"We will, Doctor," Romana assured him, "but we need to get aboard the Oculus first."

"Ah yes, the Oculus. Well, if it lies at the centre of vortex, and if we're stuck in temporal orbit, then it should be," he flicked a switch, opening the view screen and pointing, "over there."

"Filters!" Shouted Romana as a brilliant burst of golden light washed over the console room, causing her to shield her eyes as they adjusted to its intensity. With a silent _oops_, the Doctor adjusted the image.

"We're already inside the Well of Deep Time?" asked Teyamat, joining them in front of the view screen.

"We must be," said the Doctor. "When the Time Lords trapped the planet in a time loop, they had to close off that part of the vortex which allows a temporal orbit to be established."

"And on the periphery of the vortex, it's relatively stable," Romana added. "No violent time winds; just a gentle bit of backwash."

The Doctor grinned. "Which saves us the effort of trying to get outside just to get inside."

Romana shook her head. "It still doesn't help us get inside the Oculus."

"Oh?" Teyamat scrunched up her eyes and leaned forwards, pointing. "So what's that?"

She was indicating a tiny shadow, barely visible against a giant swirl of golden light. "Pengallia's TARDIS," said Romana excitedly, using the controls to zoom in on the object. It was large, round, and highly reflective. "The Oculus."

"As I predicted," muttered the Doctor. "What we have here is an abstract concept, quite brilliantly executed, but not without its flaws. On the outside, we have a TARDIS exterior, which has been disconnected from the TARDIS interior, and used to seal off the vortex periphery around K'thellid. At the heart of the periphery we have the TARDIS interior; the Oculus."

"And yet, elsewhere on the outside," added Romana, "we have a TARDIS _interior_, which also surrounds the vortex periphery, but as a means of venting excess energy from the planet. So they're both inside, and outside, the vortex."

"Exactly! I think we should call it and 'escheract', don't you?"

"I don't care what we call it, Doctor." Romana wasn't in the mood for one of the Doctor's eureka moments, especially when it had overshadowed one of her own. "I just want to know how we can get inside the Oculus."

"It's a pity that it's so far away," he muttered.

"Why," she asked dryly, "would you have tried to cross the vortex manually?"

"The vortex _periphery_," the Doctor corrected.

"Yes, and what about the wrath of K'thannid?"

"Ah," the Doctor paused, staring closer into the view screen. If this _was_ the Well of Deep Time, then the shimmering golden light must be K'thannid. "Not how I remember him. We got on famously the last time we met, but you're probably right, all things considered."

"So, what do you suggest?"

"The interstat."

"The what?" Teyamat was slowly beginning to realise that both the Doctor and Romana were complete technophiles. Two and a half million years of relative simplicity was being scoured away by a few minutes of exposure to their banter.

Romana looked shocked. "The TARDIS has an interstat?"

The Doctor paused to bring the old crone up to speed. "An interstat, my dear Teyamat, is a dimensional doorway which opens onto the vortex. It's a very crude dimensional interface point, similar to a TARDIS door, but much less sophisticated. They were used as observational windows when travelling in the vortex was little more than a Prydonian pipe-dream."

"I didn't think TARDISes carried them," said Romana.

"Just a few of the early models," said the Doctor, patting the navigational console.

"Where is it?"

"In the Observatory," said the Doctor.

"You have one of those too?"

"Oh yes. I don't use very often. Scared the willies out of Sarah-Jane. Would you like to see it?"

Romana nodded. "After you, Doctor."

"That's it," smiled the Doctor as he left the control room, "follow the blind man. Did I mention it's a fair old jog? It should take just about as long as it takes you both to tell me what you've been up to while I was away."


	18. Book Two Chapter Sixteen

**Sixteen **

Under the deep orange glow of the Oculus, a column of m'n'ch'k led the k'thellid Protector and a cavalcade of mounted riders passed out of the direct sunlight and into the shade of the forest. Their pace quickened as the soft bog gave way to harder ground, slowing again as the number of tall grey trees and the thickening mist started to obstruct their path. At the head of the column, his master's scarf trailing backwards over the jewelled carapace of the landmount that carried him, K9 guided the part off the beaten mountain track towards the clearing where he and the Doctor had first encountered the Honour Guard.

Although he was again secured to his steed by thick, fibrous strands of hardened mucus, K9's torso was not completely covered, allowing him a greater degree of mobility than had previously been available. By contrast, the k'thellid that accompanies them were firmly fixed into place with a thicker, darker and more opaque coating than had previously been seen. This, the Protector had explained, was necessary to screen them from the twilight sun.

Floating to the side of the group, the Protector had seemed unconcerned by the strong light. This, K9 concluded, was most likely due to its incredible age and the thickness of its skin.

"So where's this array then?" Erkal asked, curiosity and the opportunity to interrogate K9 ensuring that he kept pace with the front of the group.

"Sixty seven metres and closing," reported K9 as his mount sidled between the trees. "The tychomnemonic array will be visible momentarily."

As predicted, the mist and tree shafts parted to reveal the obelisk, towering over the group as they enveloped it.

"So," said Gesar, riding up to the object for a closer look, "this is your marker stone."

_It must be destroyed_, said the Protector as his palanquin drew level with the abbot, his tentacles reaching forwards to make contact with the device.

"Warning. Do not touch the device," said K9. "I have previously attempted to destroy the array, but without success."

The Protector's tentacle stopped an inch from the grooved surface of the rectangular stone. As if sensing his presence, the air around it started to vibrate.

_I sense…resistance._

For a fourth time, K9 watched as the Protector blanched, his body sagging as he shifting his bulk into his splayed tentacles. Slowly the air around the stone became charged. The vevers on its surface flashed red, as the experience of K9's earlier attack was undone. Fr several moments there seemed to be no other change until the array began to rise from the ground, sliding upwards to double its height before it hovered above the ground. With a near-familiar sound – the wheezing and groaning of displaced matter, but in reverse – the marker stone from existence.

_It is done._ The Protector resumed his natural shape, the colour returning to his body. _The Doctor is now the only carnifex programmed to cause us harm._

"Then we should make haste," urged Gesar, looking at the darkening sky and to the reddening light of the Oculus as it flickered through the high canopy of the forest. "That sun is shifting faster with each passing phase."

* * *

The repetitive nature of TARDIS corridors had barely registered with old Teyamat, used as she was to leisurely meanders through the equally similar passageways of the monastery. As she and the dvora followed Romana through the different levels of the ship, what started to register was the number of similarly painted doors they seemed to be passing, all hand painted with a coat of deep green paint.

"Doctor," she asked as they drew parallel with the fourth such doorway, "are there many of these green doors inside your TARDIS? You haven't been taking us round in circles, I hope."

The Doctor stopped short, the faint trace of a smile on his lips. "Of course not. Those green doors are an important navigational aid."

"Really, Doctor?" Romana asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow. "So how much further do we need to be navigated?

"Well, it shouldn't be too far. Let me see…" the Doctor paused, stroking his chin. "What have we covered so far? Tardisnapping, reincarnation, dark visions, broken looms, ancient ceremonies, and bold escapes. Is there's anything else you have to tell me?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Not that I can…"

"And you, Teyamat. Is there anything that you haven't told us?"

"Lots," The old woman grinned, "but nothing that won't keep."

"I'm not so sure about that. Earlier, you said that Romana and Pengallia had the same biodata."

"Yes," she nodded.

"Well, I'm afraid that's just not possible. Not unless your investiture ceremony involves a rewrite."

"Doctor," Romana protested, "I haven't been invested yet."

"Haven't you? When I was invested as President it involved wearing the Coronet of Rassilon. The rest of the ceremony was traditional tosh. Forget the pomp, you wore the crown. Pengallia was a President, Romana. The most powerful President since Rassilon himself. Even if you're her direct descendant, a loom won't grant you those privileges. A Presidential TARDIS _needs_ Presidential codes…isn't that right, Teyamat?"

"Yes." The old woman looked down at her feet awkwardly as Romana's angry stare burned its way under her skin. "A copy of the imprimatur was stored in the crown. The longer she wore it…"

"…the more her biodata was rewritten." The Doctor finished. "I'm beginning to detect a theme here."

"You're saying… I'm carrying a Presidential imprimatur?"

The Doctor patted Romana's shoulder reassuringly. "I shouldn't worry about your graduation any more, you're an altogether more senior citizen now. Welcome to the club."

Romana flushed with shock. "I…I'd picked out my robes and everything," she said as her mood started to lift. Despite her anger at yet another of Teyamat's betrayals, she found that she was grinning uncontrollably.

"There is a downside," warned the Doctor. "You don't know what other junk they'll have packed into your head. False memories, other identities, secret powers, doomsday codes, quantum mnemonics… it could turn out to be quite a curse."

"Don't listen to him," said Teyamat, trying to reassert her former influence, "it's not…"

"Don't listen?" Romana snapped. "You haven't told me half of what I need to know about Pengallia. I haven't even decided if I _like_ the woman."

"It's not like that," the old woman pressed. "Yes, there's a lot you need to know, but I was hoping you were going to be sticking around to learn all about it."

"I was," said Romana.

The Doctor's jaw fell open. "You were?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "This is my history, my destiny. I always had a feeling that I might be meant for higher office, and now I know that I've already been there and done that. I was going to tell you, Doctor, but… well, you went and lost your eyes."

"Ah yes," he grumbled. "Good old me. Note to self: next time a companion wants to leave, sacrifice an organ or two. Guaranteed guilt trip."

"Doctor!"

"I'm sorry, Romana. I'm glad you want to embrace your history, because I ran away from mine. Scared of skeletons in the closet. Petrified of predeterminism. Obviously, yours will be a much simpler affair – it's all in here…"

The Doctor reached for the handle to the green-painted door, and pushed it open.

"…nothing much to look at, is it?"

Beyond the door, the room opened out into a large domed chamber. The walls resembled white marble shot through with flecks of green and blue. In the centre of the chamber was a large, translucent egg-shaped object, completely smooth and featureless on the outside, but breaking up the light passing through it with shadows that defined its inner workings. On the other side of the egg was a large patch of creeping vines, which spread outwards and upwards, clinging to the arches, which defined the shape of the observatory's ceiling. Between the arches, like an old renaissance mural, was a holographic image of the universe beyond. More precisely, it was a largely empty image of the pocket universe in which they currently found themselves.

"Actually," said Romana looking up at the diorama overhead, "it reminds me of the Infinity Chamber in the Temple of Eternity, back on Demos. But without all the stars."

Stepping into the room, the Doctor took his place at a small console set along the left-hand wall. Feeling his way around the controls, he magnified the image of the invisible sun they had originally encountered, zooming in on the world within.

"Normally it's full of stars and constellations that chart the length and breadth of time and space," he said, "but we're cut off from the rest of the universe. Just a sun and it's satellite. K'thellid, Rendulix, call it what you will. Cut out of history like cancer."

He zoomed in again, until the molten and pitted outer surface of K'thellid hung over the chamber like a great moon less than an arm's length away. "Here's your history, Romana. No need to look for skeletons, because you're already inside the closet. It's just a pity that the Time Lords considered it so dangerous they had to throw away the key."

"Well, said Romana, "as my friend, do you think you could help me to find the key?"

The Doctor smiled, touched by the request. Romana hadn't, so far as he could recall, described him as her friend before.

"I rather think you _are_ the key, Romana. But the lock is on the outside. Back in the real universe."

"I disagree," said Teyamat, who was running her hands across the surface of the large egg-shaped object in the centre of the chamber. "I think the Oculus is the lock, Doctor. In the periphery."

"Do you mind?" The Doctor said in mock hurt. "I was prosthelytising."

"When aren't you?" Romana joked, stepping aside as the three dvora started nosing their way around the room. So why haven't you told me about this place?"

"Because I don't like to come down here," he muttered dismissively.

"Why not?"

"Well, in the old days I used to sneak down and take a look at the universe while my companions slept; until stars started disappearing, and the dimensions of the universe began to change. It puts things into perspective when you know there are _forces_ out there, which might be altering the state of the universe before your very eyes."

"What forces?"  
"Nature, apparently. Or the Time Lords. Sometimes it's hard to work out which is which. Have you ever wondered just how much they've interfered over the years? A star moved here, a civilisation removed from time and space there, a whole history zipped up and folded in on itself when nobody was looking. My problem is I think too much, and this place just made things worse. So I painted the door green as a reminder not to venture inside."

"Hah," said Teyamat. "So, we _were_ walking round in circles."

"No," said the Doctor. "I paint lots of doors green."

"So," she continued to search the room, running her hands across its exposed surfaces, "where's this interstat?"

The Doctor smiled, crossing over to the creeping vines. Lifting his new cane, he swept the vegetation aside like a thick green curtain. "Here." Hacking and tugging the vines away from the wall, the Doctor exposed a large circular door, made from the same white-flecked stone as the rest of the observatory.

"Is that it?" Bending under the Doctor's arm, the old crone peered closely around the door's edges.

"What were you expecting? These things were old kit when Rassilon was young."

"How do you open it?" She ran her fingers around the edge, looking for a catch or switch.

"There's a crank handle somewhere…"

"Doctor…." Romana interjected. "He's teasing."

"Oh, alright," he conceded, waving his hand in from of the egg-shaped object. "It's operated from in here."

With a light hiss, the translucent egg cracked along a curved seam, the front half of its shell rising upwards to expose the inside of a compact transport capsule.

"Shall we?" The Doctor gestured for them to step inside.

"Doctor," Romana protested, "it's a two man unit."

"I'm sure we can cosy up. Will Teyamat be alright on your knee?"

* * *

In their day, forced-matter observation capsules were the favoured tool of Gallifrey's dimensional pioneers. Despite their lack of sentience and normalized dimensions, they were compact, agile, and intuitively easy for even the most cloister-bound academy intern to operate. With a self-reinforcing outer shell capable of absorbing vast levels of cosmic energy, converting it into a baryonic skin able to withstand the intense heat of an exploding sun, or into high-entropy shields able to resist the gravitational force of a collapsing star or the reality-bending pressures of a white hole.

The robust nature of the capsules meant that normally unstable time technologies could be fitted to their exterior. Small, unshielded temporal accelerators and reverse tachyon drives could be used to push the capsules forwards and backwards through time with the most rudimentary of control systems. This combination of size, versatility and strength ultimately led to the bastardization of their design, adding their features to both offensive and defensive devices, including emergency escape pods and time torpedoes.

"So," asked the Doctor, spitting a few of Teyamat's white hairs out of his mouth as Romana familiarised herself with the gears and levers laid out before the pilot's chair, "are you sure you're going to be alright with this."

Romana smiled. "I'm an alpha-rated scaphe pilot, Doctor. If I remember correctly, you only scraped through with a beta. And that was with a working pair of eyes."

"Yes, but I also managed a lap at Silverstone in under one and a half minutes."

Without pausing to work out what the Doctor was rambling about, Romana activated the interstat remote. A dozen feet ahead the faux-marble faded away, exposing the brilliant golden light radiated by the periphery's sole inhabitant.

"So," asked Teyamat, who was now starting to get quite excited, "how do we get past K'thannid?"

"We don't," explained Romana, "the interstat works like a time scoop, but in reverse. We use this…" she toggled the joystick in front of her "…to zoom in on our chosen destination, like so…"

As she shifted the joystick, a pair of crosshairs projected onto the capsule's inner surface centred upon a two dimensional image. Changing coordinates scrolled alongside the display at Romana moved the interstat's point of focus deeper and deeper into the vortex.

Steering away from K'thannid's golden aura, the display focused upon the small silver sphere. Zooming further in, they could make out the shimmering surface of the Oculus.

"Is that a shield?" The Doctor asked.

"How do we get through?" Teyamat asked as Romana confirmed the Doctor's diagnosis.

"We just shift the point of focus onto the other side," explained Romana, "and then we…

"Look out!" Teyamat shouted, causing Romana to tug on the joystick, avoid the solid object that appeared on the screen.

"For goodness' sake!" Unable to see through the old crone's bobbing head, the Doctor rebuked her. "We haven't even left the TARDIS yet!"

As the projected image shifted, similar objects hove into view. The energy shield that surrounded the Oculus was filled with battleships. Hundreds upon hundreds of battleships, floating in orderly ranks. Struggling to budge Teyamat's head to one side, the Doctor finally shared the view, and whistled.

"Pengallia's Revenge," he muttered to himself. "The Time Lords betrayed her, so she started building up her forces."

There were more types of battleship than he could identify. Boomships and Bowships, Black Hole Carriers, Dredgers and Drogue Layers, N-Forms and Stellar Manipulators. Ironically, the Doctor spied several Cremasters, the kind of ship whose Quantum Isolators would have been used to separate K'thellid from the rest of the universe.

"It looks like she hasn't stopped, to me," for the first time since she had arrived on K'thellid, Romana was appalled. "This must be the biggest war fleet in history."

"Outside of history," corrected the Doctor, "but you have a point. But if the fleet's here, then…" his voice drifted as he considered the consequences.

"What? What is it, Doctor?"

"Well," he paused, shuffling his facts, "according to established history, Pengallia turned up on Gallifrey's doorstep with a fleet that filled the skies. History required her to take the fleet with her when she left. Which leaves us with three possibilites."

"Which are?"

"Pengallia left, but left behind a fleet as large as the one she used to invade Gallifrey; or, she never left, and the fleet is still here, ready to go."

"And the third possibility?"

The Doctor nudged Teyamat, prompting her to answer.

"What?" She started. "I'm supposed to know?"

The Doctor nodded, but she shook her head.

"We came here with a fleet of ships when we invaded K'thellid. As far as I knew the fleet was lost when the Time Lords betrayed us. I suppose it makes sense that it would still be here in the vortex, but I can assure you, Pengallia left. I was there."

"Are these the ships you arrived in?"

Teyamat examined one of the nearer ships, looking for a clue of some kind. After a few moments, she nodded. "Yes. But there weren't this many. That's the _Margrave's Kiss_, it was the Kaydengarde flagship; but so is the ship next to it, and the one next to that."

"Cloneships. Take the remnants of the original invasion fleet, add matter, and bathe in solar energy until cooked. When large quantities of matter rich in heavy elements were displaced to create the inner atmosphere of K'thellid, it must have been transported here, into the vortex. Over the years the energy vented by the Oculus has been used to fuel the transformation of raw matter into these ships."

"Obviously, Pengallia was a high achiever." Said Romana. "But she'd have to have crews for all of these ships. You'd need a growing population to crew this many ships, but we know the numbers of the fallen are dwindling, and their planet-based technology is breaking down."

"The Queen would have had a plan," muttered Teyamat to herself. "She always had a plan."

"Which," the Doctor said, "still leaves us with the third possibility. What if Pengallia left, but the fleet didn't?"

"Then the history we remember still has to be resolved," said Romana. Except, she realized, it couldn't be Pengallia who led the fleet to war. _"Oh, no."_

"Exactly," said the Doctor. "It was the briefest, bloodiest civil war in our people's history, Romana. But it happened."

"According to the history books," she stressed. "Neither of us saw it. This fleet should be destroyed."

The Doctor, sorrowfully, shook his head. "We felt the consequences, Romana. Pengallia's War changed the way the Time Lords looked at the universe. No more preemptive strikes on unsuspecting cultures, no more interference in the lives of trillions. We're talking about more than two million years of galactic peace."

Still in shock, Romana nudged the display forwards, moving inside the fleet's perimeter where the inside of most palatial TARDIS ever built rested at its heart.

At first, it looked like a great glittering space wheel, dotted with high towers and corkscrew spires; but as the image drew closer, the sheer scale of the construction started to emerge.

"_Temperlost_," whispered Teyamat, as if reunited with an old friend. "That's the name she gave it. It was her base of operations – her home from home during the wars. When we conquered the k'thellid, she planned to set it down in the shadow of Mount Madronal."

"It's the Capitol," said Romana, overcome with awe, "recreated in every detail." She looked over the city, picking out the details: The Presidential Wheel, the twin towers, the Panopticon, the Citadel, the dreaming spires, "look, over there, the Nemesis Monument."

"You've been there before, Teyamat. We need to arrive as close to the control room as we can. Where is it?"

"There," she pointed, picking out a building on the outskirts of the city, "The Palace of the Winter Star."

"Right," said Romana, locking on to their target location and activating the interstat remote, "let's pay it a visit shall we?"

The egg seemed to lurch forwards. Smoothly, but not of its own volition. Rainbow colours wrapped themselves around the capsule as its occupants felt themselves tugged… sucked… deep into the interstat. Plunging through a dimensional corridor, the gold and silver light of the vortex periphery washed over the capsule as it tumbled through interstitial space with a great whoosh. Rainbow colours played across the view screen, an unfettered Teyamat began to whoop with delight at the experience.

Moments later the transport capsule winked into existence exactly where Romana had planned, parked before the entrance to the Palace of the Winter Star. With a telltale hiss, the front of it's egg-shaped exterior cracked open, exposing the three tightly packed figures inside. Teyamat was the first to step from the capsule, to the Doctor's audible relief. His groan of relief was followed by a muttered thank you to his old friend, Harry Houdini.

Romana followed, stepping down onto the dust-covered pathway that led to the palace door. Poking her toe into the fine grains of dust, she kicked up a small sparkling cloud that drifted away to her left. They were, quite literally, the sands of time.

Despite the lack of a natural light source, and the great shadows cast by the fleet moored overhead, everything surrounding them glowed with its own luminescence. Back in the academy they explained that such fine chronon-bombarded particles could trap light itself within their subatomic structure.

Back on Gallifrey, the original Palace of the Winter Star had been carved from a single block of cometary ice as a memorial to the last wars waged by the old pythic regime. Romana found it ironic that Pengallia, in whom the bloodlines of Rassilon and the ancient pythias were allegedly united, should use a facsimile war memorial to mastermind the last war ever fought by the Time Lords.

Catching up with Teyamat and the Doctor, Romana found that the great glassy doors leading into the palace swung open as she approached. Guided through vaulted corridors and up great gothic stairways, she followed her companions to the central chamber which, while larger in scale and more crystalline in structure, was little more than a standard TARDIS console room.

At the centre of the room, the great time rotor projected upwards to join with the apex of its domed ceiling. The hexagonal console, like the walls and floors, resembled frozen ice, tinged with a hint of luminous blue. Joining the Doctor there, Romana found that most of the controls had been smashed into a thousand tiny shards. The Doctor pointed to the crystals in the time rotor. The outer casing had blistered, while the crystals themselves had frosted and cracked.

"It looks like whatever operation this ship was performing was damaged quite recently. I'd hazard a guess that the damage coincided with my recent outburst."

Romana flicked on one of the few intact switches, and a holographic view screen flickered into life a few inches from her face. Reflected data streams played across her face as she scanned the information.

"Everything we though seems to be correct, Doctor," she announced. "The TARDIS was set up as an automated production facility, the fleet is unmanned, and the ship has been

acting as a heat sink, absorbing most of the energy generated by the invisible sun and allowing K'thellid's interior to remain habitable."

"No body banks filled of zombie warriors? No robot antibodies patrolling the ship to attack visiting Time Lords? This is all getting a bit anticlimactic," said the Doctor. "What about the Oculus, will it stabilize?"

Romana shook her head. "The rate of repair is slower than the rate of decay, so unless we do something, K'thellid is doomed."

"None of these controls are useable," commented the Doctor, running his fingers through the burned and broken shards. "It could take days to repair if we can't salvage any of them."

"What about the telepathic link," asked Teyamat. "_Temperlost_ was designed to be controlled by mental commands. Pengallia loathed manual controls."

"Really?" The Doctor asked, sarcastically, "that's a bit of luck, wouldn't you say, Romana?"

"Presumably I have to establish a link with the TARDIS before it will accept my commands?"

"The telepathic circuits are here," said Teyamat.

Romana and the Doctor exchanged glances. Without speaking, she knew he disapproved of what she was thinking. He also agreed that there was no other choice given the short time available before the Oculus collapsed. In return, he knew from her expression that her action was a foregone conclusion. Nothing he could say or do would change Romana's mind. Anything could happen when she made that telepathic connection, and a trap could easily be triggered.

She placed her hands squarely before her, lowering them down onto the contact platen, which in turn activated neural receptors and facilitated the two-way flow of raw telepathic data.

The TARDIS intuitively started to implement Romana's mental commands. It diverted power from fleet construction back into the ship's power core; it shut down subroutines not vital to the Oculus function; it diverted power from the fleet itself back into its dynomorphic generators.

_Romana._

The voice was inside her mind.

_Romana._

It was Pengallia's voice. _Her_ voice. And it had something for her. More memories. Her mind's eye began to open as more memories flooded into her head. Memories of conflict, of victory, and of betrayal.


	19. Second Interlude Part One

**Second Interlude (Part One)**

Under the terms of her agreement with Pandak, Pengallia had dedicated her monarchy to the prosecution of what the people of Gallifrey were already calling the Time Crusades. She had led her armies against any and every possible challenger to the Time Lords' authority.

By their Queen's side in each of her military campaigns stood the Myrmidon, foremost among the Time Battalions and appointed by Pengallia as the Honour Guard of Demos. Under her leadership, the Myrmidon had stood at the forefront of the Time Crusades, revered as heroes on Demos, Gallifrey, and across the Empire.

It hadn't always been like that. The Myrmidon had fallen foul of Presidential favour long before Pengallia had taken them under her wing. Before her reign they were renowned as bloodthirsty savages who had been repeatedly censured for their over-zealous use of terror-tactics against their foes, using a ruthless blend of physical and psychological abuse that included the unsanctioned use of mind probes on prisoners, whom they later crucified or impaled as an example to their enemies. When Pengallia embarked upon the Time Crusades, it had been a simple matter for her to harness their bloody traditions, restore their faith and devotion to the old gods, and to her own patron, Nemesis, in particular.

In less than two centuries Pengallia and her Time Battalions had succeeded in reversing the fortunes of Gallifrey, revisiting the scenes of its greatest defeats and ruthlessly excising its enemies from existence. All foes fell before her sword: the Black Sun; the Charon; the Crialans; the Ferasheol; the Lobri; the Phaedra; the Thraxx. In doing so she had carved out a new empire, and returned to the Capitol expecting glory and recognition.

The meeting with Pandak had gone well at first, until she had offered up a thousand subject worlds and implored him to restore the Gallifreyan Empire, urging the Time Lords to share their great powers with the peoples of the universe. Pandak had, of course, refused, instead accusing her of suppressing planets in defiance of Presidential Edict. She had vowed there and then to challenge Pandak. She would return to contest the Presidency after one last campaign; she would, she promised, remove the last and greatest foe of the Time Lords: K'thannid, the Elder God whose forces resisted even the mighty Prydonius at the Siege of the Winter Star, where K'thun, the Archon's spawn, had transcended physical form to force the Great Hero's retreat.

True to her word, she had led the Time Battalions to Ice- Askar, leading the assault at the head of her men, as always. Together, they had braved the howling winds and the cutting ice as city after city fell. The Myrmidon and the other Time Battalions drove K'thun's forces back until only the last and greatest city stood between Pengallia and victory. By the time the enemy had been routed she already lay dead, her body battered and broken alongside that of her dragon, Vermitrax, whom she had sliced from its dying mothers womb, and raised from birth. Searching for her amongst the blanket of corpses that littered the ice caves, her faithful Myrmidon had carried her body back with them as they battled to return to the Great Fleet that bombarded the world from above. Aboard the _Temperlost_, the TARDIS she had christened during her rage against Pandak, she experienced her first regeneration, praising Nemesis for breathing life back into her body.

Her return to Gallifrey had been triumphant, and the victory had assured her ascendancy to the highest of offices. No sooner was Pandak deposed, than she had set off to conclude the war that would secure the Time Lords' place as the unchallenged lords of time and space.

That had been two years ago.

Pengalliadvoramiel, Ninth President of the Supreme Council, Protector of Gallifrey and all of her Dominions, Duchess of Patrex, Holder of the Wisdom of Rassilon, Guardian of the Legacy of Omega, Steward of the Grand Artefacts, and Defender of the Laws of Time stood among the ice-flecked debris of what had once been K'thannid's Citadel. Surrounded by her battle-brothers, they had cut a swath through the k'thellid forces; the so-called star-squid whose time-bending powers had made the assault seem so suicidal.

Most of the creatures had died when the seas were vaporised, but many more had been caught in the labyrinthine city that formed the Citadel's foundations. For every Myrmidon there remained a dozen k'thellid, each linked by the dreams of their Great Archon, all able to tap into the vast reservoir of artron energy that lay within the Well of Deep Time. But action, Pengallia had explained, required thought, and the mantric bombs they had unleashed moments before her arrival had delayed the creatures long enough for a bloody, one-sided massacre to follow. Rivulets of white, ichorous blood ran along the edge of Belicurax, the great blade she had had forged in a secret cavern deep beneath the copper moon of Pazithi Gallifreya.

Although only a handful of the k'thellid now survived, their panic-stricken psychic screams were finally eating into the minds of the Myrmidon, many of who collapsed from the psychic backlash, as they pursued their prey deeper and deeper into the mountain.

Less than two spans ago, the Citadel had floated at the very heart of K'thellid's boiling sea, poised at the very apex of the world's only mountain, wherein K'thannid himself lay, at the very heart of the vortex, which the k'thellid – K'thannid's cephalopod offspring – called the Well of Deep Time. The mind of K'thannid, worshipped on a thousand worlds as 'The Protector of the Way', stood between Gallifrey and its conquest of time. His powerful mind had straddled the heart of the vortex since the universe began, and legend had it that Rassilon himself negotiated the peace that allowed the Time Lords unfettered access to the vortex in return for the Elder Gods' neutrality in the affairs of the universe.

The Well of Deep Time was an unique phenomenon, believed to be the only natural interface between the vortex and the lower dimensions.

The plan to remove K'thannid from the vortex was a simple one. Pengallia had planned to draw him out by attacking his home world, K'thellid. The first stage had involved the fleet entering the vortex; letting K'thannid see them gather around K'thellid's periphery before they struck.

The first wave of ships materialised inside the planet, their Demat Guns cutting great chunks from the planet's interior, transporting oceans of water and vast tracts of rock and other matter back out into the vortex, where K'thannid could see the damage they were doing, forcing it to return to its home world to wreak revenge upon the betrayers who were attacking the very fabric of his existence.

With much of the water boiled away, a second wave of ships unleashed their time destructors, ageing the populated areas of the planet until is biomass crumbled to dust under the pressures.

Within microspans, only the Citadel remained, but without the boiling ocean to support it, the forces of gravity tore at it, pulling its walls in equal directions until it burst open, raining down in every direction to crash against the rocks or splash into the newly formed oceans which lined the newly exposed inner surface.

Then came the Time Battalions.

Transmatting into the corridors that surrounded the entrance to the Well of Deep Time, Pengallia and her Myrmidon had raced through its flooded corridors, desperate to fight their way through to the Well itself before their advantage was lost.

Outside, in the periphery, the Great Fleet hung, waiting for K'thannid to arrive. Like a force erupting from the heart of a volcano, the Great Archon burst into the periphery on the crest of a time flue. Before many could react it was upon them, deconstructing them, scattering their debris to the time winds.

But something was wrong. The ships he had destroyed were unoccupied; _decoys_. The other ships were ready for him, their transduction shields raised, and their time torpedoes bombarding him relentlessly.

For all the fleet's armaments, in the vortex K'thannid was unassailable. It would wear them down and destroy them, and they knew it. _No_, thought the Great Archon, _they are merely a distraction. _Ignoring the fleet, it turned its attention to back to K'thellid.

_Home._

On the surface of K'thellid – or rather, the surface of the dark temporal shade of K'thellid, which occupied the periphery – a single crevasse flared with golden light as the hurricane which formed K'thannid's consciousness swirled inside. Beyond this flume lay the interface between the Well of Deep Time and the lower dimensions.

"He's taken the bait," reported Captain Panaki from aboard the _Temperlost_, which sat at the heart of the Great Fleet. "Prepare the Cremasters."

Small, spider-like ships slipped from their moorings and encircled the shadow of K'thellid. One by one their quantum isolators fixed themselves upon the strings, which tied the world to linear time and slowly, but surely, reeled them in.

Captain Panaki's report was welcome news, but Pengallia had to hurry. When the effects of the mantric bombs had dissipated, so too had the element of surprise.

"To me, men," she commanded, wading through pools of steaming water and shouldering great chunks of frozen debris aside. The Silver Queen charged forwards into the Citadel's central chamber, sweeping Belicurax ahead of her, until she came face to face with K'thannid.

Like K'thun, its offspring, the Great Archon had long ago shed its physical form. As tendrils of energy emerged from the rough opening to the Well of Deep Time, they quickly latched on to the focus of the Elder God's power, a great golden statue that had once resembled the archon's true physical form.

It was an imposing sight. The graven image stood roughly a hundred and twenty feet tall; its great, tentacled head rested upon the squat shape of a toad-like biped whose open, bat-like wings stretched out to encircle the ceiling of the chamber. Tendrils of golden energy licked against the rough surface of the idol, and its large, round eyes began to fill with an inner light. Slowly, surely, the statue moved.

Animated by the essence of a god, K'thannid's Avatar shifted forwards, turning its attentions to the tiny woman whose silver armour and heliotrope robes picked her out as his nemesis.

Without a moment's hesitation, Pengallia released her sword. With the speed of thought, Belicurax crossed the chamber and impale the great statue. As if alive, the sword appeared to melt into the statue, revealing its true nature as it turned to liquid, its ornate hilt morphing into fine silver tendrils, which spread across its victim's body like a spider's web. Wrapping itself around the great mass of golden rock, it fixed the idol into place, soaking up its energies and transforming them into powerful bonds, which, for a limited period of time, could hold even an Elder God.

_What is this? _K'thannid demanded

"The one thing that can contain even a being as powerful as you, K'thannid: a TARDIS exterior."

_Clever._ The idol struggled against its bonds; the strain caused hairline cracks and clouds of dust to appear wherever pressure was exerted. After a moment, K'thannid relaxed.

Behind Pengallia, the Myrmidon, the Honour Guard of Demos, entered and circled the room, systematically starting to search the chamber, their weapons drawn and their eyes peeled. They had seen k'thellid enter the chamber, and they _would_ find them.

"K'thannid," Pengallia stepped forward to face the Elder God's avatar. She drew a small white card-like square from one of her pockets, and raised it aloft. "Your power over the vortex is at an end. When you left the Well, my ships had orders to seal it off. This world and its periphery are being encircled in a great cocoon that even you can't escape from. The power reserves in that body are all you have left. There are no k'thellid left to share your power, and there is no vortex link to reinforce it."

_Pengallia,_ the Archon spoke, _the Betrayer. Your coming was foretold, but the time was clouded from me. There are forces in this universe that have sought to destroy me and failed. You are their agent._

"I am nobody's agent but my own. The Time Lords were weak to leave you alone; they didn't realise that until your kind are removed from this universe they can never truly be the lords of time."

_So you do this for Gallifrey?_

"For the Empire."

_Gallifrey will repay you in kind for what you have done_.

"Gallifrey rejoices in what I have done, K'thannid."

_Oh? What have you done, Pengallia? Imprisoned me? That may protect the universe from my power, but how do you intend to survive?_

"With this," she waved the small white square she had been holding.

_What is that?_

Pengallia smiled. "Make your move, and find out."

The statue's eyes began to glow, their brilliance forcing the Myrmidon, and their commander-in-chief, to shield their eyes as the Great Archon probed his enemies for weakness.

Pengallia's defences were impregnable. She wore the great sash beneath her robes, protecting her from any kind of temporal manipulation; on her head she wore a crown; a facsimile of the Coronet of Rassilon itself, inscribed with the most powerful of runes: quantum mnemonics, whose power extended over all the Elder Gods.

The Myrmidon were not so well protected. Again, their armour was impregnable; inscribed with similar mnemonics to those in the coronet.

_You have prepared well,_ said K'thannid.

But the armour extended only to their collars, and similar mnemonics were not in place to protect the most vital part of the warriors: their minds.

_But not,_ the idol flexed its tentacles and tilted its head forwards, straining against the validium bonds, _well enough._ As it strained, the golden rock began to crack and crumble, exposing some of the roiling energies within. The bonds glowed as they feasted on the extra power.

On cue, the staccato eruptions of a dozen exploding heads filled the chamber, spraying Pengallia with the blood and brains of her loyal troops. A look of revulsion spread across her face as she turned to see a dozen swaying, headless, corpses slump to the ground.

_I may be restrained,_ said K'thannid, _but the last of my children are not._

As Pengallia watched, a dozen k'thellid emerged from the dark corners of the chamber. Oozing and sliding across the floor, they dragged themselves, tentacle by tentacle, towards the fallen Myrmidon.

"What are they doing?" Pengallia demanded, raising the white card in as threatening a gesture as she could manage.

_Your attack has changed our environment; you have destroyed many creatures that the k'thellid rely on to survive. Fortunately, you have also provided us with an alternative._

One by one the k'thellid reached their targets, extruding thick pink feelers from their torsos and using them to burrow into the open wounds between each of the Honour Guards' shoulders. As Pengallia watched in horror, the squid-like creatures pulled themselves onto the fallen Myrmidon, becoming one with their victims; fusing with them; reanimating them.

Within moments they began to stir. One-by-one, the squid-headed humanoids raised themselves from the floor. Picking up their weapons, the k'thellid hybrids closed in on their enemy.

"Is this the best you can do," she asked, drawing a force-knife and flailing it to put distance between herself and her attackers. "I'm the greatest warrior here."

_Against a dozen single blades, perhaps. But against a foe with the coordination of a single mind?_

With a final burst of resistance, Kthannid's Avatar strained against its bonds, and at last, the great statue burst into dust, unleashing the golden energy of K'thannid's transcendent form. With nothing physical to latch on to, Pengallia's sword contracted back into its original shape, and Belicurax clattered to the floor.

Golden threads of energy spiralled across the room with blinding speed, infusing the bodies of the k'thellid hybrids, whose squid-heads glowed as they transubstantiated, becoming one with their god.

_Now,_ it/they thought, surrounding her with drawn blades and primed stasers_, I am free again._

Pengallia ducked forwards, her blade disembowelling the body of a former guard as she rolled forwards, to where Belicurax lay. As she did so, the boot of another guard came crashing down onto her wrist, knocking the force-knife from her hand. Panting, she turned to face the alien creature that stood above her. It's sword-tip came to rest upon the narrow gap between her helmet and her armour.

She laughed. "So _that_ was your move. Exactly as the Matrix predicted. I'm glad old Rassilon got one thing right."

Opening her free hand, Pengallia revealed the small white card she had been carrying.

"This," she smiled, as the card began to unfold, "is an ansible. A communication device."

_And?_

"It restores the link between Gallifrey…" as she spoke the card had opened out into the form of a small white cube "… and these warriors."

The eyeless brow of the k'thellid hybrid furrowed as the cube appeared to unfold again, this time into the higher dimensions. Sensing a dangerous gambit on the Queen's part, the hybrid standing over Pengallia raised its sword to deliver the killing blow… and stopped.

_What is happening?_ K'thannid's choked voice bellowed through a dozen linked minds. Something was started to happen. They were beginning to glow.

"It's called regeneration," explained Pengallia, picking herself up as her attackers staggered and swayed around the room. "It's usually reserved for Time Lords like myself but, once I'd convinced them of its military applications, the High Council agreed that it should be made available to all of our citizens."

_Help…me…_

Most of the hybrids were on their knees, grasping at their heads as the eerie glow pervaded every cell in their bodies.

"Of course," she explained, retrieving Belicurax and hefting it reassuringly, "this more artificial form of regeneration requires a telepathic link to work effectively. The ships that cut you off from the vortex also cut us off from Gallifrey, so when you killed them, their regenerations weren't triggered… until I opened this link."

Pengallia turned her attention back to the white box. Its job done, she willed it to fold itself up once more. On the ground, the bodies of the hybrids were changing form, their cells reabsorbing the golden light that surrounded them. As she watched, their alien heads began to assume familiar shapes again… humanoid faces.

"Hello," she smiled as the first pair of eyes blinked open.

Captain Aldus, her second-in-command, stretched his hand out before his eyes, examining the new body. "The armour's too loose," he whined.

Smiling, Pengallia pulled out a small scanning device, running it over the Captain.

"Excellent. It looks like your body has assimilated the k'thellid biodata."

"And K'thannid?"

"Well, most of him is inside you," she gestured towards Aldus and his men, "and, when we return to Gallifrey, inside everyone who regenerates from now on. Today the Time Lords can add the power of a god to their arsenal."

"You said most of him?"

Pengallia nodded.

"The rest is trapped in here," she held up Belicurax, patting it appreciatively, "for now."


	20. Second Interlude Part Two

**Second Interlude (Part Two)**

In the bowels of_ Temperlost, _Pengallia leaned over the ornate alabaster balcony that overlooked the Crucible Chamber she had had crafted for the next phase of her plan. Belicurax, the great sword that had once been part of her ship's exochronoplasmic shell, dangled beneath the vast dome of the chamber. It hung in the grip of a great manipulator arm which held it fast above a boiling pit filled with rare and unique Tardis metals. Validium and mercury, chronodyne and argonite, vibranium and lead. These and a dozen more elements and compounds bubbled and hissed as technicians surrounded the crucible, monitoring temperatures and force fields; waiting for the optimal moment to lower K'thannid's prison into the mix, melting and changing its form forever.

Forty feet below her the senior engineer, Forge Master Pendar, turned to give his President the thumbs up.

The Crucible was ready.

With a satisfied nod, Pengallia watched as the manipulator arm lowered her sword into the seething furnace below. As it made contact and glowed white-hot, she imagined she could hear K'thannid's wail as the atoms separated and drifted apart.

At Pendar's station there was a flurry of activity. Lights flashed across the consoles and the technicians reacted, making fine adjustments and initiating the next stage of the process. Six small golden globes, each the size of a fist, rose from the edges of the pit. As they did so the force field flickered and grew brighter, rising from the crucible before contracting into a perfect sphere. The liquid metals were lifted with it and, with the shift in heat and pressure, they ionised. Within moments there was a free-floating ball of plasma hovering above the pit.

The Forge Master turned towards Pengallia and called out to her. "We're ready to jettison."

"Excellent." She stared at the newborn sun she had created. As she did so, the plasma shifted, pushing against the powerful force field in a vain attempt to escape. As it did so it appeared to take the shape of a great eye – K'thannid's eye. It stared back at her defiantly, and she flinched.

"Release the sun!" Pengallia ordered, standing back from the balcony as the engines of the six small spheres began to wheeze and groan. Within moments the chamber had darkened, and the sun was gone.

Overhead, the chamber's vast dome began to shimmer. Configured to resemble the orrery from the Infinity Chamber back on Demos, it formed a new holographic image. Above her Pengallia saw the recursion she had created. The sun enveloped the planet of K'thannid and the spacetime which surrounded it. And inside the planet, where there was once an inner ocean, there was now a bright and stable sun. The same sun. The Eye of K'thannid. The Oculus.

"My Lady?" The address was accompanied by a polite cough. It was Troop-Sergeant Malthus, one of her Myrmidon. He was holding out a glowing white card.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she said, taking the device. "You're dismissed."

Staring into the gentle white light, Pengallia closed her eyes and allowed her mind to focus on the ansible as it unfolded. She allowed its dimensions to open up inside her mind, constructing a psychic bridge across the higher dimensions. A moment later she made contact with another mind.

Pengallia opened her eyes and found herself standing in another room, half a galaxy away. Captain Panaki's office, on Demos.

"Majestrix?" Focusing on an ansible of his own, Panaki's face was filled with joy and expectation.

"I have good news Captain. K'thannid is contained, and the planet is secure." She looked around at the psychic analogue of Demos. "How are things at home?"

"The people are overjoyed, Majestrix. Here, on Gallifrey, and across the Empire. News of your victory is being broadcast on every channel across the public network, and the Alliance worlds have already started celebrating."

"Good," she relaxed. The politics had been a little… tense when she had departed. "With the fall of the k'thellid my crusade is over, Panaki. A solid empire, a stable peace. This is what we've worked for all of these years."

The Captain agreed. "The name of Pengallia will live forever alongside heroes of the Old Empire like Rassilon and Omega."

The Silver Queen smiled. In two centuries she had risen from off-world priestess to become one of the greatest Heroes of Gallifrey, overcoming issues of race, birth, and gender. All without the help of her so-called political advisers.

"How has the High Council reacted to the news?"

"Favourably. They've even agreed to commission a statue to celebrate the victory. It's to be forged from validium, and will bear the aspect of the Goddess Nemesis."

"Hah." Now _that_, she thought, was a turn up for the books. "I bet Pandak didn't like that. Teyamat's doing, I presume".

Panaki nodded. "She's already arranged for it to take pride of place on top of a column in the middle of Founders' Square…"

"Excellent. Has the biodata from the Myrmidon been assimilated into the Matrix?"

"The Castellan's Office confirmed the transfer three spans ago."

"Good. So now only the Time Lords have access to K'thannid's power. Now that the k'thellid's link to their god has been severed I can arrange for the Well to be reopened."

"There is one thing, Majestrix."

"Yes?"

"The High Council is anxiously awaiting the return of their President. They want to know when they can meet with you."

Pengallia couldn't contain the sneer that crossed her face.

"If they need to meet they will have to come here. There's too much to do. I'm having the _Temperlost_ converted into a new city, and it will be several months before the ecosystem is stabilised. Which reminds me, have Teyamat bring a world-seed with her when she comes and …"

"Forgive me, but is that really a job for the President?"

"Oh, yes. This planet is unspoiled by all the temporal pollution that Gallifrey and the Alliance worlds have suffered in recent millennia. And with access to the Well of Deep Time it's perfect for chronoforming into a new throne world."

"Throne world?"

"For the Empire. The High Council never wanted it, and Gallifrey is hardly the shining jewel that it once was. But this planet… it's the perfect place to transfer the seat of power to. It will be an eternal symbol of rebirth following the darkest period of our history."

"I'm not sure the High Council would see it that way."

"After what I've achieved, I'm not sure the High Council will be in a position to argue. Gallifrey will still be a key player, but K'thellid… Rendulix… will be the true heart of the Empire."

* * *

From her vantage point at the top of the newly-christened Mount Madronal, the Silver Queen looked up into the Eye of K'thannid. The Oculus. Her own eye shed a single tear as she bathed in its burnt orange glow.

"Majestrix, are you alright?" It was Teyamat.

"Just thinking," she said, turning to the priestess, "about what might have been."

"Treachery is Pandak's true nature," said Teyamat. "He betrayed you just as his namesake betrayed Rassilon."

Wiping the tear from her eye, Pengallia shook her head. "Pandak was just the instrument. It took the full power of the High Council to do that. And me, of course. My pride was the catalyst."

"You're being unfair to yourself. You brought them peace. Raised them up among the Gods. And you did it without risking their precious aristocracy. You took the risks; you raised the armies. You're a great…"

"Hero," she finished for her. "Yes, I know. I should have listened to the lessons of history. Sometimes, in the eyes of their rivals, heroes become a greater threat that the enemies they vanquish. I should have returned to Gallifrey straight away. It would have been the perfect time to appoint a new High Council, after all."

"So, what next?"

"I'm tired." Pengallia sighed, looking out at the lush new world they had grown around them in the last couple of days. She had made the devotional to Nemesis and planted the World Seed herself, down by the shore of the great ocean that now lined the planet's interior. "And whatever we did to this planet, it's beautiful place."

Teyamat was incredulous. "You're giving up?"

"No. Just taking a break." Turning to Teyamat, she looked her mentor and friend straight in the eye. "The Time Lords think they've imprisoned me here for all eternity, and that's how long I've got to wreak my revenge. I think its best to rest, rebuild, make this world the home we meant it to be. Then, when we're ready, we go back."

"How? You time-looped the planet and _they_ have the key. If K'thannid couldn't escape, how…"

"Thanks, Teyamat," Pengallia snapped. "So glad you have faith."

The attack on K'thellid had been the culmination of years' experience. She had personally commissioned the Cremasters that spun their forced-matter cocoons around the system. It was with her own codes that they had been sealed inside. She was the gaoler, not Pandak.

"I didn't mean…"

"First, we broker peace with the last of the k'thellid. Turn our enemies into our allies. They're at our mercy right now, so we can work with them. Rebuild this planet together."

"And then?"

"Then we reconstitute the _Temperlost_ and return through the Well of Deep Time to Gallifrey. There's still a fleet out there in the periphery. Pandak was kind enough to imprison me with my army. He'd never have made a General."

"But he didn't give you all of your weapons. The Empire's forces would outnumber us a dozen to one."

"Why? They have no enemies left. Give it a few years and the High Council will probably break up the Empire and disband its forces. Besides, we've got enough resources here to grow an even bigger fleet."

Teyamat smiled. Her assumption that Pengallia had lost the will to fight could hardly have been further from the truth.

"Your betrayal was foretold you know," the old priestess said, "but I ignored it. I mistook Pandak's first betrayal for his last."

"If that's the case, you're saying that I'll still return in victory?"

Teyamat frowned. "I think so. I'll have to revisit the prophecy."

Pengallia smiled. "It wouldn't be the first time."


	21. Book Three Chapter Seventeen

**Book Three – History will teach us nothing  
**

**Seventeen**

"Romana? Romana?"

Romana felt the sting of a slap against her cheek as the vision ended, and she found herself staring into the mirrored lenses of the Doctor's goggles. Like Pengallia in her dream, she saw a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"Doctor? Teyamat?" She stared at the old crone. No different now than she had been in Pengallia's vision all those years ago. Except for the bag of cheesy nachos she was still consuming.

"Are you with us?" The Doctor asked.

"Yes, yes of course." Pausing to take stock, she familiarised herself with the console room again before turning inwards. She could feel her new isomorphic bond with the _Temperlost_. "I'm all here."

"Wish I was," quipped the Doctor, returning his attention to the console. "Wish this was too. Did you get any insight into how we stabilise this sun?"

"Yes. There are six stellar manipulators holding it in place. They're controlled…" she moved beside the Doctor, pointing out a panel six inches in front of his nose, "...from here."

"Ah. Excellent." He paused to examine the screen. "They're Type Twos," he announced. "That's even better."

"Solar engineering isn't my forte, Doctor. What's so good about Type Two Stellar Manipulators?"

"They're semi-sentient. Their owner whistles and they bark."

Romana leaned forwards to examine the on-screen data. "A lame animal can't run properly no matter what its master tells it to do. Two of those manipulators are only working at fifteen percent capacity."

The Doctor beamed a superior smile. "Stellar Manipulators are designed to last for as long as the oldest star. The problem we have here is that their control of the sun has higher priority than their self-repair circuits."

It wasn't often that the Doctor could surpass Romana's knowledge in matters technical, so he was relishing the experience. "The _Temperlost_ is semi-sentient. It should have compensated by using a quad magnetic field to stabilise the sun while the manipulators repaired themselves. Unfortunately, its been too busy pining for its owner. That's the downside of forming one-sided emotional attachments. Pengallia was too busy to put her ship first. She lavished it and then she stripped it. Poor thing doesn't know what to do with itself."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that a little TLC is probably all she needs. From you."

"TLC?" Romana arched an eyebrow. What did he mean? A Transferred Linear Charge? Thin Layer Chronography? Triangulated Laser Correction? She hadn't a clue what the acronym stood for. "What's that?"

"Tender loving care," he explained. "Like I give the TARDIS."

"Ah," said Romana. "There, there," she thumped the console. "I'm here for you."

The Doctor's head sank into his hands as he let out a deep sigh of frustration. As he did so, the sound of the console shifted and a red light turned green. The Doctor looked up as the screen confirmed that the _Temperlost_ was now enveloping the Oculus in a quad magnetic force field while the damaged manipulators started to recover.

"Haha!" The Doctor jumped up and hugged Teyamat and Romana, spilling nachos and dropping his stick. "We did it!"

Romana smiled. "Yes, Doctor. We did, didn't I?"

It was raining. Hard enough to slow Gesar's progress as he and his monks led the protector's entourage up the mountain. They had been lucky enough to navigate the swamps before the rain began, but the dust and soil of the mountain path had quickly turned to mud, forcing them onto slightly rockier terrain. Above them the already darkening Oculus was obscured by the shadow of the monastery above them. They were getting close to their destination.

Fixed firmly to his mount, K9 bobbed up and down as he discussed the finer points of the planet's history with Councillor Erkal. The old man's encyclopaedic knowledge of K'thellid's past was filling considerable gaps in the little robot's database, and raising more than a few questions.

"Query. If the k'thellid are water-dwellers, why do some choose to live at the top of Mount Madronal? Its atmosphere and proximity to the sun are not conducive to…"

_It is the duty of the K'thellid to maintain a vigil over the Well of Deep Time…_ explained Protector K'thellid, interrupting their discussion. He had spent most of the journey in silence, concentrating on keeping the Doctor's TARDIS away from the Oculus… _and the entrance lies at the top of the mountain._

Erkal coughed, ignoring the protector and responding directly to the robot's question. "That's something I could never work out either, K9. Why should the K'thellid have such a duty?"

The protector flushed. _K'thannid's wrath is reason enough._

"But why should that affect you? Oh, you say you're rivals, but his anger will be focused on those who attacked him. Pengallia and the fallen. Not on those of his children who found a way to survive."

"Is everything alright?" It was Gesar, at his most diplomatic.

"No, not really," said Erkal. "K9 asked an innocent question, and the protector here's being vague about his answer."

_Erkalliboritrixistomas ,_the protector used the councillor's full name,_ there is nothing vague about my responses. The Well is sacred to fallen and k'thellid alike._

"Ah," Gesar could see where this was going. It had been raised by Erkal and others on more than one occasion at Council meetings. "The religion observed by the Monks of Madronal incorporates rituals from both k'thellid and time lord cultures. It's a shared duty. A symbol of the peace between us."

"But why are the people of the city excluded?" Erkal was undeterred. "Nobody has ever explained to us why the peace is even necessary. Nor why K'thellid take humanoid form, nor why they haven't crushed their neighbours."

_Trust, councillor. There is no need for…_

"Intruders!" Announced K9 abruptly. "Sensors indicate forty four riders approaching a hundred and twenty degrees to the south west."

The rain and the shifting Oculus did little to help them see what K9 had detected. After years of staring down the mountain in all kinds of light and weather, it was Abbot Gesar who saw them first.

"It's Aldus and the Honour Guard! We need to get to the monastery now. Quickly!"

Gesar urged the men to break for higher ground and the party scattered. Unused to riding steeds, the monks were almost as slow as the m'n'ch'k, whose slow scuttling was equally unsuited to the steep terrain. Within moments they were surrounded by masked riders.

Summoning Brothers Xerinar and Ch'sheth to his side, the abbot rode out to meet their assailants, intent on defusing the situation. At the head of the Honour Guard was Aldus. The only member of the guard who went unmasked, he cut an even more imposing figure than normal. A giant of a man riding a great black steed. The former Sheriff squeezed its flanks, urging it forwards to meet the abbot.

"You know my terms, Abbot. Hand over the protector and his _menks_ and I'll let you go back to your monastery unharmed."

"You know I can't do that. I swore an oath to Pengallia herself…"

"Says you!" Aldus spat, his single eye fixed on the priest. "You weren't even here when the Honour Guard waged their war against these bastards. We… the Honour Guard… are descended from the warriors of Demos. They showed no mercy when they massacred our brothers."

"Just as Pengallia showed no mercy when she slew theirs."

"Exactly. And yet you say it was her wish that there was peace between our races? What kind of addled talk is that?"

"The truth."

"Truth? I'll give you truth. This so-called peace has been a sham. Its time to get rid of the squids once and for all. Before they get rid of us."

Gesar shook his head. "That's just two million years of prejudice talking."

Behind them, Councillor Erkal stepped forwards, placing himself between the two men.

"The length of time is irrelevant," he said. "The men of the Honour Guard, and of the city, aren't _descended_ from Pengallia's Myrmidon. They _are_ the Myrmidon. The same men who first set foot on this world two million years ago."

Aldus sneered. "So you say, Erkal."

Erkal continued, turning to the abbot. "That's why the hate is so strong. These men may have had their memories crushed by perpetual regeneration, but they know they have cause to hate. They just can't remember why."

"I remember why," said Aldus. "I have nightmares. Visions. They used to be of the war… of the time we invaded. Now they're different."

"Different," Erkal was intrigued. "How?"

_He has visions of Pengallia, don't you sheriff?_

It was K'thellid. Like Erkal, K9 and the protector had moved forward to join the parlay, while the circle made by the Honour Guard closed in, its men ready to quell any sign of resistance. Aldus' eye opened wide at the k'thellid's words.

"How could you possibly know that?" He asked, as realisation dawned upon his face. "It's you! You've been planting these visions in my mind, making me question my motives."

Reaching forwards, Aldus unhooked the weapon slung over his saddle. It was a force-axe. As sharp as it had been when in last cut through k'thellid flesh, two million years ago. As he closed on Protector K'thellid, a burst of crimson energy struck the blade of his force-axe. Superheated by K9's laser, the red hot weapon flew from Aldus' grip. As it hit the ground, a small fire ignited, hissing as the driving rain quickly reduced it to a smoking patch of charred earth.

"Stand back," commanded K9, his nozzle fully extended. "This unit is authorized to use lethal force."

_That will not be necessary,_ thought the protector, _I am more than capable of protecting myself._

"We'll put that to the test soon enough," said Aldus, steadying his steed and extending his hand to stop the other members of the Honour Guard from reacting. "You can't stop us from killing you."

_That would be premature, _the protector continued._ We do not need to be enemies, Aldus. If the abbot is prepared to overlook your transgressions, we can resolve this with a meeting of the Council of Elders when we reach the monastery. We need to reach the shrine before the carnifex destroys us all._

"The Doctor, you mean?" Aldus laughed. "He doesn't want to hurt anyone. If he did it would make my life easier. You're my prisoners, and I don't see why that should change. And I'm certainly not about to give up the advantage for the sake of a vote."

"Aldus, this is all a mistake," Gesar urged. "There's no need to do this. We need to get to the shrine."

"We will," said Aldus, motioning for his men to create a gap for the party to continue on its way up the mountain. "But only because I want answers from the Doctor."

* * *

As he busied himself with adjustments to the Oculus, the Doctor whistled a very old, very bawdy, and very out of tune naval ditty. As well as generating heat, the Oculus was also responsible for venting it. As a hollow world heated by the phantom sun that enveloped it, K'thellid was in constant danger of overheating. Only by diverting its heat back outside could the Oculus maintain the temperate climate which allowed life to survive in its ecosphere.

"There," he proclaimed, passing the sonic screwdriver back to Romana before transmitting the last of his adjustments to the stellar manipulators. "That should do the trick."

Pocketing the device, Romana craned over the Doctor's shoulder to examine the quality of his work. "Not bad, I suppose. What do you have planned for an encore?"

The Doctor flashed a smile. "I was thinking of composing a paper on perpetuated thermodynamics," he replied, "but first I need to slave the _Temperlost_ to the TARDIS, so that when we finally leave, the _Temperlost_ and the fleet can too."

"Excuse me," said Teyamat, who had been struggling to follow their conversation. "How can the _Temperlost_ go anywhere without its exterior?"

"She's right," Romana agreed. "The Oculus and Pengallia's sarcophagus are all that's left of the outer shell. It can't leave the Well of Deep Time without destroying the sun and unleashing K'thannid."

"K'thannid?" The Doctor frowned. "I'd completely forgotten about him. He really can't be very happy wrapped up in the Oculus. Perhaps we should just release him."

"What?" Romana raised both eyebrows as her jaw dropped open." You _can't_ release him. He's a Great Old One. An enemy of the Time Lords."

"Oh, we shouldn't hold that against him. We've all been there. Besides, he and I are _old_ friends."

"Good for you," she replied. The Doctor had said something about that before. Romana had dismissed it as an empty boast at the time, but now the comment took a different turn. "He and _I_ appear to be old enemies. His powers were been stolen by Pengallia."

"Are you sure?" The Doctor seemed surprised by the revelation.

"Absolutely," she nodded. "She gave his powers over the Time Lords when she defeated him."

"Interesting…" the Doctor paused, deep in thought. "I think he and I need to have a little talk."

"Talk? What about?"

"History needs to be preserved, Romana. Pengallia's fleet _must_ be able to invade Gallifrey."

"You don't need to release K'thannid to do that," she replied. "Your TARDIS has some spare outer shells doesn't it?"

"A few…" the Doctor considered the suggestion, "but they're all beyond repair."

"The _Temperlost_ has a crucible chamber. It's how Pengallia created the Oculus in the first place. If you could donate a couple of old shells we could forge a new exterior without compromising releasing K'thannid."

"That's fine in principle," said the Doctor, "but do you actually know someone with foundry experience? Modern TARDISes are formed by block transfer. They don't need the old-style crucibles."

"Pendar," Romana smiled.

"Who?"

"Forge Master Pendar." She turned to Teyamat. "Is he still on K'thellid?"

"Yes," the crone smiled, "he's one of the Madronites."

"Excellent," the Doctor clapped his hands together. "I have a plan. But first I need to see a god about a man. If I can persuade K'thannid to let the fallen fulfil their destiny, then the k'thellid can live in peace. Everybody wins!"

"You can try." Romana sighed. "But he's been imprisoned for two million years. He may not be in the best of moods." It was good to see the Doctor's mood back on track, and there could be no harm in him_ talking_ to K'thannid.

"Two million years is just the blink of an eye to a god. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Just promise not to do anything until we've talked further."

"That coronet is going to your head," he beamed, striding off towards their observation capsule with wave of his stick. "See you in a bit."

"Is he serious?" Teyamat asked, scrunching up her empty nacho bag. She had been a quiet observer since the Doctor had joined them, and Romana realized that she might be jealous of the attention he was getting.

"Talking to gods is one of the Doctor's specialities," mused Romana. "We're in the middle of running away from the last one he spoke to. I just hope he has better luck with this one."

"K'thannid was supposed to be a reasonable god," said Teyamat. "Not like his brothers C'thulhu and Ullathris."

"If that's true, it doesn't make Pengallia sound very reasonable. Does it?"

"You couldn't understand," mused Teyamat. "The burden of responsibility sometimes forces you to make decisions you might otherwise regret."

Romana considered Teyamat's words. Was she speaking from personal experience, or from her time as Pengallia's right hand? It was time to ask the question.

"If you were really that close, why won't you tell me what happened to her? Did Pengallia stay, or did she leave?"

"It's not that simple," the old woman answered sheepishly. She was clearly uncomfortable with Romana's line of questioning.

"Getting a straight answer from you never is."

"Well…," Teyamat paused, considering her words more carefully, "when you've walked the Eight Fold Path, both choices become possible."


	22. Book Three Chapter Eighteen

**Eighteen **

Surrounded by steep slopes and mountain mist sat the great archway which led into the monastery of Mount Madronal. The weathered remains of four large round seals were carved into the large slab-like doors that stood some forty feet high by twenty wide.

While two of Gesar's monks helped him to dismount, K9 focused himself upon the task of identifying the ancient symbols. Through his visual circuits he was able to enhance the images, cross-referencing them with the vast database of symbols and icons acquired during his time with the Doctor. Disregarding the doors' ornate borders, which showed serpents and dragons looping through and between them, K9 quickly matched the images to the seals of Demos, Dvora, Madron and Patrex. One world and three great founders, familiar to any student of Gallifreyan iconography.

Stepping forwards, one of the brothers, whom K9 identified as Xerinar, extended his baton before striking the centre of the left-hand door three times. A moment later the doors made a deep grating sound as they swung inwards, revealing a large arched cavern crisscrossed with beams of refracted daylight. Which returned K9 to his observations of the Oculus. His internal light meter indicated that the spectral shift had slowed, a clear indication that the sun had started to stabilize.

With Erkal beside him, K9 followed behind Protector Kthellid's floating palanquin as the monks, the k'thellid and the Honour Guard crossed the monastery's threshold. With a few words from Abbot Gesar, the monks inside gave their visitors a wide berth, eying Aldus and his men suspiciously as they were led deep into the mountain, towards Pengallia's tomb.

As he passed through the doorway, K9 found himself gently nudged by the hand of Councillor Erkal.

"Look, K9," the old man whispered, pointing to where one of the k'thellid had just dismounted. The creature was not following its leader, but instead slid into a side passage, where one of the monks was waiting in the shadows. "Let's follow."

Sneaking into the now-empty passageway, Erkal paused to give K9 time to catch up.

"K9, there's something you should know," Erkal said. K9 responded by rotating his audio receptors rotated towards him. "As well as being a Councillor, I'm also a member of the Honour Guard."

The robot dog's head tilted upwards and to the side. He extended the tip of his stunner.

"I'm not like Aldus," the old librarian put his hands up, as if to fend off any attack from the little robot. "I have different… motivations."

K9 said nothing, instead taking the opportunity to scan the area. He located the k'thellid and the monk several metres ahead. He satisfied himself that neither the master nor the mistress were in the vicinity. He did, however, detect recent traces of Romana's psychic spoor. She had been nearby quite recently.

"Please explain," he finally asked, having first reduced the output levels on his external speaker.

"There's something going on here," said Erkal. "There has been for years. The falling population is not consistent with the technology at this monastery's disposal. If looms or regenerator units are still being used, the population would remain constant. If they _aren't_ being used, then nobody can regenerate."

K9 processed the information as the old man continued. "In good conditions, a typical Demosian should live no more than seven to ten thousand years, yet the fallen are expected to believe we've been alive for two million."

"And the k'thellid?"

"I know they're involved," said Erkal, "I just don't know how. I was hoping you might…" he paused to consider his request, "…help me to investigate. What do you say?"

K9 considered his position. Until the TARDIS returned he had no overriding orders. This left him with two courses of action: find the most likely place for the TARDIS to arrive and wait… or explore, gather information, and report back his discoveries to the master and mistress at the first opportunity.

"I will accompany you," he replied, activating his servomotors. "This way."

The councillor shuffled along behind as K9 led them deep into the labyrinth of corridors that lay ahead.

* * *

K9 and Erkal's departure did not go entirely unnoticed. 

Since the Doctor had arrived, Sergeant Malthus had begun to question his motivation as a member of the Honour Guard. While he had not spoken out about his concerns, the sergeant found it increasingly uncomfortable to stand by the sheriff's side during their escalating confrontations. He was still loyal, of course. But he had taken to hanging back from the action, and was the rear-most of the Honour Guard when they had entered the mountain.

Like Erkal, he had seen the menk that slipped off down the side-passage. He had also seen Erkal and the robot dog pursue it. The pendectarian was an old friend, and wise. Whatever had motivated him to take a side-trip with the robot was worthy of further investigation. Slipping into the side corridor, Malthus quietly followed them.

* * *

With a fractured wheezing, groaning sound, the Doctor's TARDIS slowly materialized inside Pengallia's tomb. The strain on its damaged exterior, coupled with its resistance to the psionic forces exerted by the k'thellid protector, made every pulse of its engines quiver. To those inside the tomb, its police-box shape appeared worn and battered, with translucent patches where its blue pigmentation had simply faded away. 

The door opened, and a makeshift white flag popped out, tied to what had once been K9's tail.

"Hallo?" the Doctor called, tentatively stepping outside. As he had suspected, the chamber was filled with monks, k'thellid and the Honour Guard.

Lowering his flag, the Doctor raised his other hand, which contained a short, stubby device of some kind.

"Doctor?" Gesar was the first to speak. "Where is Romana?"

The abbot, flanked by a couple of his men moved forwards to intercept the Doctor, but Aldus and his men intervened, holding them back while they awaited the time lord's response.

"She's inside," he said. "She's my prisoner."

_Prisoner?_ Thought the protector, _I thought she was your colleague._

"She was," agreed the Doctor, "until that old fool Teyamat convinced her she was a resurrected goddess. I'm afraid all that power made her think she could stop me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm the Doctor. I'm the Lord President of Gallifrey. And a carnifex to boot." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's never good to fight against your true nature."

"Doctor," Aldus was confused, "what are you saying?"

"You were right about me, abbot."

"Right?" The abbot's tanned brow furrowed.

"Back on Gallifrey this world is little more than forgotten history. The Time Lords have moved on, and they weren't concerned with your world or its politics. But now… my coming here was a mistake, but it's brought you back to our attention. It's therefore my duty, as a time lord, to keep you all imprisoned… or to destroy you."

"That's not going to happen, Doctor," said Aldus, puffing out his already impressive chest and broadening his shoulders. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I had hoped that, together, we could work to reunite the fallen with the Time Lords. But you're no better than Gesar and the menks. Worse, in fact. At least they have their desire to survive as an excuse."

"And the Time Lords don't?"

"We're no threat to you," said the sheriff. "We never were…"

"Keep back, Aldus!" The Doctor raised the stubby device he had been holding. He shifted his thumb slightly to expose the button he was holding down. "If you don't back away I'll be forced to release this."

"Explosives?" In spite of his mistrust for the time lord, Gesar found himself a little surprised by his actions. "You intend to blow us up, Doctor?"

The Doctor smiled. "Suicide isn't my style, gentlemen. This is a remote transponder with a voolium casing and an isomorphic lock. Only my genetic codes can activate it, and it's shielded from external psionic influence. By releasing this trigger I'll transmit a signal that will destroy your Oculus."

_What?_

"It will send a deactivation code to the six stellar manipulators that hold the Eye of K'thannid in place. The Great Archon will be freed, and your so-called peace will be shattered once and for all. Under their true leader, the k'thellid will rise against you."

"I don't understand," said Aldus, still trying to come to terms with the Doctor's threat. It sounded like a bluff. "You'd unleash your greatest enemies upon us?"

"Pengallia is the real threat to Gallifrey, Aldus. She stole K'thannid's power, and only she can stop me."

"Really?" The sheriff shook his head in disbelief, turning to the armed Guard who surrounded the chamber. "Men, " he ordered, "kill him."

_No!_

Before the Honour Guard could react, the protector's palanquin had shifted itself forward as his telepathic shout echoed their heads. They froze for a moment as the k'thellid continued, broadcasting his thoughts so everyone could hear them. _Listen to me, Doctor. K'thannid's release must be avoided at all costs. The k'thellid are not what they once were, and neither are the fallen._

The Doctor lowered the remote slightly. "Would you care to explain?"

_Pengallia defeated us by stealing our genetic heritage. _The protector replied._ She created a symbiotic link between the fallen and the k'thellid. We need each other in order to survive. If K'thannid is released, his power will **not** be returned to the k'thellid. My people will not rise up and overthrow the fallen. _

"Will not," The Doctor asked, "or cannot?"

_Cannot. _The protector clarified._ Only those chosen by Pengallia herself can wield the Archon's power. She took it and bestowed it only upon her most trusted aides._

"Wait," said Aldus, "Pengallia's most trusted aides were the Myrmidon. He paused as the revelation sank in. "The Honour Guard! You're saying that if the Doctor unleashes K'thannid, it will be us who can wield his great power!"

"As I suspected," said the Doctor, lowering the remote and breaking into a smile.

"You were bluffing?" Gesar asked.

"Sort of," said the Doctor. "I just wanted to be absolutely certain that K'thannid should be released and the Well of Deep Time reopened."

He raised the remote again, and this time he released the button.

* * *

In another part of the monastery, K9 and Councillor Erkal followed the slimy white trail left by the unmounted k'thellid. Like the creature preceding them, their progress was slow. 

"Councillor," K9 said as quietly as his circuits allowed, "we are being followed."

"Monks?" The old man asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"Negative. Sergeant Malthus is pursuing us. He is maintaining a mean distance of 4.3 metres."

"He's a good man, K9," Erkal whispered, breathing a sigh of relief. Of all the Honour Guard Malthus was the most reasonable. Whether he had been despatched by Aldus or followed of his own volition, the sergeant would ask questions before acting. "And useful backup if we need help."

K9 didn't respond. Instead he paused, adjusting his sensors before reporting further. "The k'thellid has entered another corridor 8.5 metres ahead of us. There is some interference caused by the rock."

"It's alright," said Erkal. "I seem to remember this part of the monastery from one of the times I was brought up the mountain to regenerate."

"Query: You recall your regenerations, and yet you earlier claimed to be uncertain of having lived so long. This data is inconsistent."

"I see what you mean," said Erkal, pausing to think about it. "I remember all but my last regeneration, which must have been seven… eight thousand years ago. That's much longer than a body would normally last. It's rare for a final incarnation to last as long as even a thousand years."

"Query: Is your situation unique?"

"No," said Erkal. "No, it isn't. It seems to have been the same for most of the fallen, as if we'd somehow had our last lives extended."

"So you do not recall any deviation in procedure?"

"In the old days, the dying would be brought up the mountain, connected to a regenerator unit, and then returned to the city. Over the years our memories became less and less reliable, but that's to be expected. Then the procedure changed. My last body was dead before it was taken up the mountain, and I didn't return until several years later. Yet I have no memory of the intervening time."

Reaching the break in the corridor, K9 paused. He briefly scanned ahead – and behind – before turning the corner and leading them towards a chamber not far ahead. Its entrance was obscured by a dirty linen curtain.

"There appear to be three life forms ahead. One human, one k'thellid, and a deceased human."

"This is it, K9," said Erkal. "That must be the regeneration chamber."

Edging forwards to the end of the corridor, they paused outside the chamber. Easing past K9, Councillor Erkal gently reached for the curtain, drawing it cautiously aside so that he could peer inside.

The far wall was decked with old technology. A biodata store, a loom, and a metamorphic symbiosis regenerator. Beside it was a large water-filled tank, which was occupied by the k'thellid.

In the centre of the room was a row of stone pallets, one of which was occupied. The features were obscured, but he recognised the hair. Leaning over her was a familiar face. Dressed in a blouson with a linen apron and a face mask.

Drawing the curtain aside, Erkal beckoned K9 to follow.

"Doctor Tavic," he said loudly by way of an announcement. "Would you care to explain what are you doing to Melosa?"


	23. Book Three Chapter Nineteen

**Nineteen **

The background hum that filled the TARDIS stuttered as Romana adjusted the dimensional stabilisers. Moments later it strengthened and steadied as diverted energies passed between the Temperlost and the time ship's systems. Dim light brightened, and a number of red lights dotting the console switched from red to green.

"Can I let go of this yet?" asked Teyamat, her head buried inside the pillar that supported the mushroom-shaped console. "My arms are beginning to ache."

"What?" Romana peered under the console. "You shouldn't have to hold onto that. Here." Rummaging around inside the Doctor's battered toolbox, which rested at her feet, she pulled out a Y-shaped device which she handed to the old priestess. "This Neutron Grip should do the trick."

"Your Doctor is full of surprises, Romana," said Teyamat, brushing herself down.

"That's one way of putting it," said Romana, her attention back on the energy transfer between the two TARDISes. "Which surprise were you referring to?"

"Him," Teyamat nodded at the main view screen, which showed a filtered image of the stabilised Oculus. "K'thannid. Do you really think they spoke?"

"Well, the Doctor tells the odd tall tale, but not when it matters."

"You don't think it was a ruse to secure your compliance? How well do you know him?"

"Well enough to trust his word. He said he'd met K'thannid before, remember."

Teyamat's face rumpled into a frown. "How? He's been imprisoned in the Oculus for two million years. Are there still laws against Time Lords visiting their own history?"

Romana nodded. "And against consorting with the elder races," she said. " Laws and the Doctor don't exactly go together, but the Time Lords would have had something to say about him consorting with a god of K'thannid's stature."

"If they knew about it."

"Well," Romana sighed, "we arrived here because we're on the run. The Time Lords don't know that we're here."

"I'd wondered about that. How did you break through the time loop?

"The randomizer. An invention of the Doctor's."

"Ah," the old crone smiled. "Then he's as resourceful as Pengallia."

"He's the most resourceful man I've ever met." A light flashed on the console. A signal from the Doctor. It was time to act. "That's what makes him so infuriating," she said, flicking a hastily installed switch. One by one the stellar manipulators shut down.

"How old is he?" Teyamat asked, watching the image of the Oculus, which appeared to wobble for a moment.

"He's just turned seven hundred and sixty," said Romana, turning a dial.

"I don't think so," said Teyamat. As Romana turned the dial the Oculus appeared to stretch and distort as the shadow of the bound god that lay within started to emerge. "His aura is older… much older."

"His aura?" Romana looked up from the console. Over Teyamat's shoulder she could see the sun taking on a new shape as its outer shell faded from existence.

"I was trained as a Priestess of Karn, Romana. I see beyond the material realm. Your Doctor has lived more lifetimes than his age suggests. He's walked the Eight Fold Path."

"The Eight Fold Path?" It was the third time it had been mentioned, and Romana was still none the wiser. Irritation crept into her voice. "What is it?"

"After the hurly burly's done," said Teyamat, "I suggest you ask the Doctor." Turning to face Romana, her head was framed by the bursting corona on the screen behind. Great tentacles of energy stretched and unfurled as K'thannid tasted freedom for the first time in two million years.

* * *

In Pengallia's tomb the Doctor was surrounded. All eyes were settled upon him as his thumb slipped from the trigger and the signal was unleashed.

In the moment that followed, wind began to whip around the chamber, and a faint, stilted, wheezing groaning sound began to echo through the mountain.

Beside the Doctor,his TARDIS sat, unmoving. Its battered shell throbbed as its outer dimension stabilised. But this wasn't the source of the sound.

In middle of the chamber, where Pengallia's sarcophagus lay, another part of the Temperlost's outer shell began to fade from existence. _This_ was the source of the sound.

The wild howling of vortex energies bursting out of the now-exposed Well of Deep Time began to fill the chamber. Flickers of light burst from the open chasmthat had appeared even as the sarcophagus and part of the chamber's floor disappeared.

Spirals of light and dust flooded the room.

* * *

K'thellid's inner sky erupted with golden light as the sun exploded and expanded outwards. Blazing fingers of light stretched out like forks of lightning as clouds evaporated around them. Then the light dimmed, and the fingers of light began to curl; to ball up into a fist-like knot of golden energy.

K'thannid.

The god's eyes closed, and the sky went dark.

Inside the vortex, the temporal echo of K'thellid solidified as the Well of Deep Time – the corridor connecting the world's interior with the periphery – reappeared upon its surface. Directly overhead, the winds of time swirled, and K'thannid's eyes opened once more.

It looked down upon the Temperlost and Pengallia's fleet.

_At last.

* * *

_

"Well," said Romana, "this is the point where we cross our fingers."

Teyamat looked confused, making the sign of a cross at the view screen before them. "Is this some kind of superstition?"

Romana couldn't help but smile. "A custom," she said, holding up her own crossed fingers to demonstrate it properly. "From Earth."

"The Temperlost!"

Teyamat pointed at the view screen. As K'thannid faded from the sky over K'thellid, the viewpoint had changed, following his emergence into the periphery, where K'thannid was taking the form of a great winged cephalopod that dwarfed Pengallia's TARDIS and its fleet. "Did he agree not to damage them?"

"Damn." Romana cursed as a great claw emerged from K'thannid's growing form, reaching out to envelop the fleet. She quickly reached forwards to manipulate the controls in front of her.

On-screen, the Temperlost and the fleet faded away.

Inside the TARDIS, a small silver sphere began to materialize in the centre of the control room. It was accompanied by a familiar wheezing and groaning sound.

* * *

_Melosa?_

Malthus reeled when he heard his wife's name. Ahead of him, the linen curtain fell back into place as Erkal and K9 slipped into the room beyond. Running up to the doorway, the sergeant caught the curtain, peering inside at the scene. His eyes settled on the body of his wife, and on Doctor Tavic, who hovered anxiously above her.

"Erkal?" Tavic was a tall willowy man with thinning white hair and grim, humourless features. "What are you doing here?"

Melosa lay in front of the pendectarian, who was obscuring the sergeant's view. The robot dog, K9, was at Erkal's side. Its nose-weapon was extended and pointing at the doctor.

"I should be asking you that, Tavic?" Erkal said. " I saw a menk come in here. What's going on?"

"What do you think?" The doctor snapped. He seemed agitated.

Malthus knew something was wrong.

"Melosa had a seizure. She died on my way here."

_Dead?_

A wave of emotion surged through Malthus. Holding back the giddiness and nausea at hearing the doctor's words, he swept the curtain aside and stepped into the chamber, pushing his way past Erkal and the dog to cradle his wife's body.

"Melosa," he sobbed. Looking up, he fixed his eyes on those of the physician. "Tell me you can save her, Doctor Tavic."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "With help," He said, " but I'll need you all to leave me to my work."

"Query." K9 interrupted. "My scanner indicates that the patient Melosa displays no sign of life. I estimate the time of death as four hours and twenty minutes ago."

"She can still be regenerated," the doctor said. "I managed to suspend the regeneration process with _tanha_ extract. She can be revived, but timing is critical," he urged. "You _must_ leave."

"This regenerator unit is non-functional," said K9. "As is the loom."

"So, Tavic," asked Erkal, "how will you regenerate her without any equipment?"

"Let him do his job," urged Malthus. Looking down at his wife, he swept a lock of her grey hair aside before leaning forwards to kiss her forehead. Stepping away from her, he reached for the councillor's arm. "Let's do as he says, Erkal. Let's go."

"What about the creature, sergeant." The elder was pointing towardsa water tankset against the far wall. A k'thellid rested there, floating in the murky liquid. "Are you going to leave Melosa and Tavic here with _that_?"

Erkal was right. Something _was_ wrong.

"What's it doing here, Tavic?" The sergeant asked.

"Its here to assist me," said Tavic, his patience shortening. "Now, please, leave us."

"Not yet," said Erkal. "K9, do you have a gene reader?"

"Affirmative," said the dog. "This unit is equipped with a Mark Four Biodata Scanner."

"Excellent. Scan me."

"What?" Malthus was confused.

"Scan me, K9," the old man repeated.

"Stand back," the robot dog said to Malthus and the Doctor as it nodded its head. "Commencing scan."

K9 emitted a high pitched noise as a line of red laser light played across the councillor's face before pausing to process the data.

"Well?"

"There is a 28 variation to the modern Gallifreyan biodata sequence," said K9.

"What does that mean?" Malthus asked.

"Modern Gallifreyans will have been subject to recent biodata upgrades as a means of enhancing their mental and physical abilities," K9 explained, "but over two million years that would account for only a 2 variance."

Erkal looked worried. "And the other 26?"

"Foreign genetic coding."

"Please." Doctor Tavic was getting impatient, stepping forward to try and usher the intruders from the room. "Leave us." He turned to the sergeant. "Malthus, if you want your wife to be returned to you, I have to act quickly."

Foreign biodata? Like Erkal, Malthus was starting to grow concerned, turning to K9. "What do you mean by foreign?"

"Nonhuman," the dog explained.

Tavic shook his head. "The introduction of foreign DNA is a normal procedure. Upgrades during regeneration are commonplace."

"K9," Malthus asked, "what's the origin of the nonhuman biodata?"

"It is k'thellid."

"K'thellid?" Malthus turned on Erkal, his fears and prejudices rising to the fore. "You're k'thellid?"

"A third of me, it seems." Erkal looked unwell. "What about Melosa?"

K9 repeated the scanning procedure before reporting his conclusion. "The patient has a genetic variance of only 1.3 from the Gallifreyan norm."

"She's not infected?" Malthus breathed a sigh of relief.

"Alright," said Tavic, desperate to recover his authority. "Listen to me. Without equipment, the only way the fallen can regenerate is by introducing foreign DNA. Tissue that's never been regenerated before. K'thellid tissue."

K9 was intrigued. "And then?"

"Some time over the next few months she'll be ready to regenerate again. The k'thellid live longer than we do, but after fusion she should have a completely fresh regenerative cycle. Think of it, Malthus. Thirteen new bodies."

The sergeant shook his head. "But she'll be k'thellid."

"Don't you understand?" The doctor sighed. "We're all part-k'thellid. Malthus, you _must_ let me do this. She'll still be Melosa," he stressed. "It will take a while, but she'll get her faculties back in time. If you want her back, you'll let me do this."

It was a stark choice. A dead Melosa, or a k'thellid Melosa.

A _menk_ Melosa.

A _living_ Melosa.

"Alright," he said, reaching forwards tosqueeze his wife's cold, dead, hand. "Do what you have to."

"Thank you."

Pulling on a set of thick vulcanized gloves, Doctor Tavic moved over to the water tank. Reaching in, he took a hold of the floating k'thellid and lifted it out of the tank. Carrying the dripping creature across to the slab where Melosa lay, he placedit above her head and took a stepback. As he did so, the creature adjusted its position and reached forward with its tentacles. Gingerly making contact with her hair, her forehead, her cheek and her throat, the k'thellid's tentacles finally coiled themselves around her neck and tensed, pulling the its bulk forwards until it was in direct contact with her skill.

"What's happening?" A deep sense of unease swept over Malthus as the creature slowly stretched open its beak and began to slide its mouth around her cranium. He started to panic. "It's enveloping her head."

"It's eating her," said Erkal, flinching as the creature's muscles tightened and they slid over the top of Melosa's face.

"Its normal," said Tavic reassuringly. "Its how symbiotic fusion works." As he spoke, thesphincter-like muscles contracted. There was a loud cracking sound asthe skullsplinteredand the k'thellid started to consume the rest of Melosa's head.

"Melosa!"

Revulsion and mistrust urged Malthus forward to end the process. Tavic intercepted him, delaying the sergeant just long enough for the k'thellid's beak to bite down through the flesh of Melosa's throat, severing her head and extending a gristlytube-like organdeep into her spinal cavity. It was replacing her headwith its own.

* * *

A torrent of golden light entered Pengallia's tomb, bursting from the openchasm like an inverted waterfall. Snake-like threads of brilliant energy twisted and writhed as they spread outwards, filling the chamber. K'thannid, the controlling mind, sought out the bodies of his children. One by one the Honour Guard fell to their knees, infused by the overwhelming energies that seeped into every living cell.

As their tormentors' bodies began to glow, the terrified k'thellidremained untouched by the power of their god. Their minds had long since been disconnected from K'thannid, and the few cephalopods that bore witness to the transformation quivered in fear and anticipation.

In the centre of the chamber Sheriff Aldus, already a giant of a man, towered over the Doctor and those around him. As he felt the power surge through his body, true realisation dawns upon him, and he smiled.

"Brothers," he turned to the fallen that surrounded him, "we are descended from the original Honour Guard, and we have inherited K'thannid's power. Pengallia stole it, and nowher gift lives inside us. There's no need for peace with the k'thellid at all."

Another of the fallen, himself coming to terms with the wave of energies that transformed him, stepped forward to challenge the sheriff's logic. It was the abbot, Gesar.

"You're wrong, Aldus," he said. "Now you know the truth, you must surely see that the k'thellid aren't a threat to us. They _need_ us."

"Hah," the sheriff laughed in Gesar's face, flecks of spittle settling on his beard. "They might need us, abbot. But we don't need them!" He reached forward, his bear-like grip catching the abbot around the throat as his golden aura brightened and expanded. Locking eyes with the abbot, he started to squeeze.

_Stop!_

It was Protector K'thellid.

Alone among the k'thellid, their leader seemed unfazed by the danger that Aldus and the Honour Guard now posed. His palanquin slid smoothly forwards as the sheriff cast the abbot to one side, squaring up to the vast, heavingbulk of the great cephalopod.

Their eyes met.

_So,_ thought the protector,_ it has come to this._

"I've waited a long time for this," Aldus raised his balled fist, which shone like a brilliant sun, "_menk_."

As Aldus lifted his fist, the Doctor, still standing in the centre of the chamber, began to feel something strange.Time itself appeared to be slowing. His hackles rose as a strange itch began to form deep inside his skull. Pain shot through his shattered optic nerves as he pitched forwards and his goggles clattered to the floor. Scabs cracked, clots thinned and blood flowed from his eyes again. It wasn't just slowing. It was flowing backwards.

"No," the time lord muttered as an impending sense of dread began to overwhelm him. His eyes were healing as the flow of timearound himwas being reversed. Blackness was replaced by dark shadows, which lightened to forma blurred grey patchwork. Within moments the greyness had become a haze of brilliant, chaotic, colours.

Two large,surprised eyes returnedto the Doctor's face. Ashis vision cleared he could see that everything around him was still. Frozen.

Aldus was paused in mid-laugh as his stationary fist was poised to hurl an equally motionless ball of psychic energy at his intended victim. The protector. Around the room glowing monks and Honour Guard weresuspended in a single moment. So to was the stream of light emerging from the Well of Deep Time.

In the corners of the room, the few remaining k'thellid and k'thellid hybrids were frozen in mid-flight, their fears and anxieties trapped by the power of their former god.

The Doctor's eyes suddenly came into sharp focus. As they did so, they registered the only other movement in the chamber: the shifting photophores of Protector K'thellid's skin confirmed the Doctor's suspicions.

K'thannid may once have been the directing mind, but no more.

Time flowed forwards, and the sheriff's fist opened. He reached out with his mind, and the glowing ball of psychic energystarted movingtowards the protector.

"Don't use your mind!" the Doctor shouted.

But it was too late. The flow of time had returned to normal.


	24. Book Three Chapter Twenty

**Twenty **

Sergeant Malthus launched himself forwards, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh of the k'thellid as it began to fuse with his wife's head. Skin split and rivulets of white ichor began to seep from its wounds as a psychic scream echoed through every mind in the room.

"You'll kill her, Malthus." Doctor Tavic took the sergeant by the wrists, desperately pulling him free. "You have to trust me."

"Trust?" The sergeant raised his blood-soaked hands to his face. The milky-white liquid ran down his arms and onto his sleeves. "Melosa and I trusted you for centuries."

"And did I ever betray that trust?"

"Once," said Malthus, looking into his hands. They felt… different. They tingled. A sense of power surged through him. He turned them, balling them into fists. There was a faint golden glow beneath the sticky mess that covered them. "Now."

His right fist crashed into the doctor's jaw, sending Tavic flying into one of the slabs. A second blow quickly followed before the sergeant pinned him to the table.

"Mal…thus..." Tavic struggled to speak, "… stop … something's happening."

The entire room had filled with an eerie glow. Not from the light vents, but within the air itself. Tendrils of light were winding around the room, seeking out the fallen. Malthus, Tavic, Erkal and Melosa.

Malthus let the doctor go. Looking at his glowing hands again before turning back to his wife's body, he could see that it was also drawing down wisps of light from the atmosphere. Where Melosa's head had been, the k'thellid's wounds were visibly healing, and pulsating golden threads coursed through its veins.

It looked as if it were feeding.

Reaching down, the sergeant took the cephalopod in his hands and tugged, trying to prise the creature away from his wife. In doing so, he exposed the point where their bodies met, and could see that the fusion was complete. They had become one.

He let go, feeling Erkal's hand upon his shoulder.

"This is our worst nightmare," said the councillor. He appeared to be taller and stronger than before. "Well, Tavic," he drew himself upright, turning to the doctor, "are you satisfied?"

"I explained," said the doctor, wiping blood from his nose and rubbing at his tender neck, "she'll be alright."

"And this stuff?" The sergeant held his hands up as the last tendrils of golden energy suffused them. "What is it?"

K9 trundled forwards as the doctor started to shrug. "Spectral analysis indicates high levels of artron radiation," he announced, his head tracking the flow of energy. "The pattern of movement is consistent with psychotronic manipulation."

"He means it's being moved by a mind," said Erkal, in response to the sergeant's quizzical expression. "The question," he turned back to Tavic, "is _whose_ mind?"

The doctor looked as puzzled by this new turn of events as the others. He examined his own flesh as the glow subsided, closing his eyes to explore the new sensations in his body. There was something there. A presence buried deep inside the light. It was distant… alien.

"It's K'thannid," he said at last.

"K'thannid?" Erkal's face fell. He was horrified. "You mean he's free?"

With a roar of anger, Malthus lunged again, crashing into Tavic before raining blows down on the doctor. As the two men fell struggling to the floor, Erkal reached for a sharp implement resting on the doctor's table. He then turned towards Melosa.

"Please desist from this course of action." K9 said as he interposed himself between the librarian and Melosa's body.

"I'm sorry, K9," said Erkal, raising the blade. "This has got to be done."

Without further warning, K9 unleashed a blast of ruby energy at the councillor. Surprisingly, it stopped short of hitting the old man, scattering harmlessly away from its target. The little dog concluded that the artron energy infusion had allowed his attack to be turned away by sheer force of will.

Despite being startled by his newfound ability, Erkal immediately followed through with a gesture of his open hand. A moment later K9 found himself pushed backwards by a wave of invisible force. Unable to oppose the force, he spun on his axis before crashing sideways into one of the room's walls.

Unhindered, the librarian returned his attention to Melosa, and plunged the surgeon's knife downwards.

* * *

Romana examined the small silver sphere that now rested comfortably in the palm of her hand. Beyond the distorted reflection that returned her stare was power beyond imagining. Power to build an empire. Power to rule with an iron fist. The greatest TARDIS ever built. The largest fleet ever constructed.

Too much power.

She squeezed the sphere, feeling the cold bite of the metal, before slipping it into the pocket of her body suit before turning her attention to the view screen.

"This doesn't look good," she said. Only the shadow of the planet's exterior remained visible. Like the _Temperlost_ and Pengallia's fleet, there was no longer any sign of K'thannid.

Beside her, Teyamat had taken an interest in the view screen controls, adjusting the image to show a different perspective.

"It looks better from in here than it does out there," she said. Outside the TARDIS, the view screen showed that the Doctor was encircled by a mix of monks, vigilantes and k'thellid. "He's surrounded."

"Those are his favourite odds," said Romana dismissively, reaching for the imaging control, tuning in an image of the sky above Mount Madronal. "I'm more worried about what's happening with K'thannid."

The last energies of the K'thellid Archon were coalescing into a gaseous form that floated in the middle of the sky. It looked like a cluster of golden clouds were drifting over the mountain, taking on a shape that vaguely resembled the god's physical form.

"I don't know how," said Teyamat, shaking her head, "but I think he's kept whatever word he gave the Doctor."

"I'm not sure that he's in control," said Romana. "Even if their biodata is compatible, why would he willingly give his power to his enemies? It doesn't make sense."

"It's what Pengallia wanted, Romana. It's _her_ will that matters here, not K'thannid's."

"_Her_ will. Of course that's…" she was interrupted as a growling, howling sound cut into her thoughts "…what?"

"It's the hounds," said Teyamat. Vervix, Varnax and Vulpix sat in a semi-circle around the console, their smoky heads pointed upwards as they bayed loudly. "They're sensing something. The TARDIS… look."

The time rotor was moving. It slowly twisted and juddered as its familiar blue-white light gave way to a cloudier, darker hue.

"Not again," said Romana, flicking at switches and turning dials in an effort to stop the process. She sighed with frustration as black streaks of energy flickered and danced around the central column. "Get away from it, Teyamat."

An eruption of black energy burst upwards from the time rotor, gushing upwards into the hexagonal distributor panel set into the ceiling. Dancing like black lightning, it caused the roundels in the walls to dim, and the ambient light that filled the console room began to stutter erratically.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," said Romana, keeping her hands well away from the arcs of energy that jumped across and between the ships controls. "Whatever it is, it's being drawn from deep inside the TARDIS."

"Look." Teyamat was pointing to the view screen. Dark clouds were gathering between K'thannid and the mountain top. "It's the power of the carnifex."

"Never mind that," said Romana, keeping her attention fixed on the central console, "get down!" Diving across the room, she tackled Teyamat, pulling her across the floor to find cover behind the Doctor's high-backed chair. Moments later, the time rotor exploded.

* * *

The Doctor could see again.

Pengallia's tomb was alive with dancing lights, clouding the Doctor's vision like a swarm of fireflies. After a few moments his virgin eyes acclimatised themselves to the chaos that surrounded him. At the centre of this chaos were two figures.

First, there was Protector K'thellid, the telltale shimmering of its skin confirming who was responsible for his returning sight. And power.

Second, Aldus. Like his enemy, the former sheriff was also shimmering as his body absorbed the power radiated by the great golden god in the sky.

Like Aldus, many of the Honour Guard and the Monks of Madronal were glowing with K'thannid's power. Unlike Aldus, they had listened to the Doctor. They were showing restraint. Awaiting orders.

Grinning wildly, Aldus chose to ignore the Doctor's warning. Reaching out with his thoughts, he could think of only one objective. To kill the protector and all of his loathsome kindred.

He reached out to make contact with the protector's mind first, planning to smash his way smashing through its flimsy mental barriers and make it burn.

Instead, it was his own mind that burned.

The Doctor's eyes had clouded over, becoming black as pitch in response to the former sheriff's attack. Screaming, the Doctor looked skywards as a dark halo enveloped him, and twin bolts of black energy were unleashed from his eyes.

In an instant Aldus was gone. At the merest lick of dark energy his body had erupted, exploding in a cloud of hot black ash which filled the chamber.

"Doctor!" Through the settling soot and the dancing lights, the abbot ran forwards, catching the time lord as he slumped forwards. "What's happening?"

As the priest took his weight, the Doctor tried to push him away. "Keep back, Gesar," he said, turning his dark eyes towards the protector. "The carnifex power has returned."

"Carnifex?" The abbot was genuinely shocked. "How did your eyes…" before he finished his question, Gesar knew. He had seen time reversed before, and followed the Doctor's gaze back to the protector. "You did this?"

The protector remained silent. As the Doctor's eyes cleared again, he could see that everyone had backed away from him. Everyone except Gesar and the protector.

"Keep away from me, all of you," he said. "If you use your new powers this…" he gestured towards the ashes that were once the sheriff "… this is what will happen. Don't think at me. Or each other. Any of you. My power feeds on your psychic energy. Aldus thought to do harm, and it just lashed out. I have no control here."

"Listen to him," said Gesar, "he's capable of destroying us all. However powerful we think we may be."

Wisely, nobody moved.

* * *

Nobody moved inside the TARDIS either. At the centre of the room a column of impenetrable of darkness projected upwards from the point where the time rotor used to be.

From their vantage point behind the Doctor's high-backed chair, both Romana and Teyamat had heard what happened in the chamber outside. As the cloud created by the explosion thinned, images of Pengallia's tomb were visible again. The criss-crossed light reflected off the settling dust, making shadows of the rooms occupants while a dull aura surrounded the open Well. At the centre of all of this, the Doctor's head and shoulders appeared to be surrounded by a dark halo.

And, Romana noted, his eyes were back in place.

She stood up, hefting the silver sphere in her right hand.

"What are you doing?" Teyamat asked as the time lady strode purposefully back to the central console.

"Sorry about this, Doctor," Romana said, ignoring the crone's inquiry. "I hope you'll thank me for it later." She raised the sphere, mustering all the strength she could to bring it down onto the exposed telepathic circuitry, smashing the ship's link with Gallifrey into tiny pieces.

Seconds later, the pall of dark energy faded and a brilliant burst of silvery blue light flushed it away. This was followed by a groaning noise as the controls shut down and the room sank into dim light.

"That was exciting," said Teyamat, dusting herself down. "What was it?

"I'm not sure," said Romana, examining the console. "It was an autonomic programme. It took control of the ship's telepathic circuits."

"Where did it come from?"

"From Gallifrey."

"See," Teyamat sneered. "The Time Lords _are_ steeped in deviousness."

"They were once," Romana agreed, "but times have changed. It must be a legacy from the old times."

"A bit like us?"

"From the same period, perhaps," Romana said, adding a little too smugly, "but the Time Lords don't fight wars anymore."

"How enlightened of you. It won't last."

"It's lasted two million years so far."

"Ah," the old crone tapped her nose before walking over to join Romana at the battered controls. "That would be down to Pengallia then. She removed all your enemies from history, remember?"

"I remember well enough."

"And then the Doctor came along and unleashed the greatest of all her enemies." She leaned across to flick a switch, changing the perspective on the view screen once more. "Look."

Romana looked, but she could see nothing. "What?"

"The sky," Teyamat urged. "What do you see?"

Romana looked again. "Nothing, I…" she looked harder, but the dimming light made it difficult to see, and then "…he's gone. K'thannid's gone. I don't understand."

Teyamat smiled as Romana tinkered with what were left of the ship's controls. "The time loop's still in place. Where could he have gone?"

"I know exactly where he went," said Teyamat, activating the door control. As she did so, a stream of dancing lights circled the room, spiralling around and around as if looking for someone to latch on to. "Look."

"That's K'thannid?"

"Yes, seeking out those who have the right biodata."

The lights settled around Romana, entering and soaking into her skin.

"Me? Why isn't it affecting you?"

"I haven't regenerated in more than two million years, Romana. I'm a sister, not a time lord. Only those who have k'thellid and Gallifreyan biodata are affected."

"Of course, and the Time Lords all have k'thellid biodata. But that means… when the time loop is opened every time lord in history will get a share of K'thannid's power!"

"Except the Doctor. His biodata _must_ be different."

"Different?" Romana was confused. "Why would it be different?"

"He's a carnifex." Teyamat explained. "Only a time lord of ancient stock can wield such power. If he had k'thellid biodata, his first use of the power would have been suicide."

"And if he ever returns home, his power will kill every time lord in the universe!"


	25. Book Three Chapter Twenty One

**Twenty One**

Erkal's blade never reached its target. Instead, it was caught in the vice-like grip of Melosa's hands. Infused with the same energies as the councillor, she turned the blade aside and rose to meet her attacker's gaze. Except she had no eyes.

_Stop this,_ she begged. _Now._

The blade clattered to the floor as the librarian backed away from the creature sitting up on the slab. Swinging around so that her legs dangled over the floor, she examined her surroundings, extending her tentacles and broadcasting her thoughts.

_Malthus, Tavic, stop._

The voice in Malthus' head was Melosa's, and it was enough to end his brawl and to look at the hybrid that wore his wife's body. His twisted face reflected the conflict of hearing his wife's voice whilst seeing the violation of her now-living body.

_K'thyankha._ It thought.

"What?" Erkal asked.

_My name is K'thyankha, _She replied,_ Malthus wanted to know. I am a hybrid. And please, _it gestured towards the sergeant,_ give me a few moments to explain. _

Letting go of Tavic, Sergeant Malthus stood up, cautiously joining Erkal while the doctor composed himself.

"That's my wife's body," he said through gritted teeth.

_And it will be again._

"How?" Erkal asked.

Tavic interrupted. "I… I was trying to tell you."

K'thyankha continued._ When Pengallia defeated the k'thellid, she allowed her myrmidon to be transformed into hybrids and then used regeneration to restore them to human form. The same trick has been used to keep the peace ever since._

"I don't see how that keeps the peace," said Erkal, crossing the room to check K9. The little dog's eyes were dim, but still active. "Especially if nobody told us about it."

"There were complications in the early days," said Tavic. "Fallen who knew they were about to become hybrids tended to refuse the process. We lost quite a few to ignorance, so it was decided to keep the truth secret."

_Only those who possess both k'thellid and fallen biodata can tap into the power of Great K'thannid, and only when the Well of Deep Time is open. When they are close to death the k'thellid come up the mountain to devote their last years to the monastery in hybrid form. When the hybrid dies, a new cycle of regeneration is triggered, but it is the fallen personality that is dominant._

"So," said Malthus, "if I kill you, Melosa will be returned to me?"

_Yes. That is correct._

"Would that be fair, Malthus?" Tavic asked. "K'thyankha has sacrificed its life so that your wife will be able to live again. And if you force the regeneration so soon you'll risk regenerative trauma."

Looking up from his examination of K9, Erkal shook his head. "I disagree. We're being infused with K'thannid's power. That means the Well of Deep Time is open. With an abundance of artron energy there's next to no such risk."

"I want Melosa back now," said Malthus. "You must return her to me."

_It is alright, doctor._ K'thyankha explained, _If the Well is open, then the time of vigil is over. It is my duty to surrender this body to the original host._

"It is?" Erkal was surprised to hear that. He was also surprised to find that K9 was undamaged.

"Query," said K9. "Why would the k'thellid would give up control now? They do not gain from making such a sacrifice."

"K9's right," said Erkal. "Why would you be surrendering your body so easily?"

_Evolution, For the k'thellid to survive beyond the homeworld we must take humanoid form. There aren't enough fallen to wage a war against the Time Lords._

Erkal whistled. "War?"

_Of course. Pengallia sought revenge against the Time Lords, and so do the k'thellid.

* * *

_

Outside the TARDIS, the Doctor felt the weight of the carnifex power lift from his shoulders. Somehow, the link had been broken.

For now.

Deep inside his pockets, the Doctor let go of the toothpick he feared he might be forced to use again. Looking around Pengallia's tomb, he was pleased to see that nobody dared move. He liked that, and decided not to reveal that his terrible powers were in remission. With the power gone, he allowed himself to feel angry, striding purposefully towards the protector.

"You had no right," he said.

_I had every right,_ thought the protector.

"To manipulate me? To risk the lives of every man, hybrid and k'thellid within thinking distance? It was blind luck that only one person was affected by this.

"The Doctor is right," said Gesar. "We could all have died."

_We could all have died anyway. Aldus was going to use K'thannid's power against us. We have a right to defend ourselves._

"True, but your ability to manipulate time suggests you were never really in danger, were you? You have some powers of your own."

_K'thannid and I are of the same ilk, Doctor. Of course I do. But my powers are… less mature._

"Less mature? They shouldn't even exist, should they?"

"What do you mean, Doctor?" Gesar asked. "Why wouldn't the protector share the powers of his predecessor?"

"K'thannid had no successor. The last of his last offspring, K'thun, was killed by Pengallia. The k'thellid may be telepathic. They may can be able to grow to your size. But none of them can manipulate time. That power was exclusive to K'thannid. He brought it with him when he first set foot in this universe."

"Are you sure about that?" The abbot was confused. How could the Doctor know such things? "K'thannid's lineage is speculative, to say the least. Can we even be sure that his origins are as you suggest?"

"Before I stepped out of that TARDIS I had a nice quiet chat with K'thannid. It may be his power, but he's not been in charge for a very long time."

_You spoke with K'thannid?_

"We're old friends. Of sorts. As long as this…" the Doctor gestured towards the Well of Deep Time that lay open in the centre of the chamber, "was sealed, K'thannid's power was locked away from everyone inside this world."

"Everyone except Pengallia," said Romana, stepping outside the TARDIS. Still dressed in her silver body suit and fur-lined cloak, Romana looked every inch the Lady President, flanked by Vervix, Varnax and Vulpix. Behind them, Teyamat poked her head through the TARDIS door and smiled.

"Exactly." The Doctor grinned. "When Pengallia severed his link with the k'thellid, K'thannid was no longer the directing mind responsible."

On seeing Romana and the devouring hounds, Abbot Gesar fell to his knees. With them at her side, the Well opened and K'thannid unleashed, there could now be no doubt that Pengallia had returned.

"It's alright," Gesar felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the Doctor. "You can get up. She's just the hired help."

"Hardly," Romana replied with an accusing frown. "He can't be trusted out on his own. But he is right. I'm not Pengallia, and if I ever ascend to high office I'll be doing it under my own steam. Not," she winked at the Doctor, "that such an outcome could ever be in doubt."

"So who…?"

The Doctor coughed. "I was about to explain."

"Pengallia never left," said Romana, recovering the initiative. "She was just too busy to hang around and run the planet."

"It's true," said Erkal, stepping into the chamber. He was accompanied by K9, Malthus and a beautiful woman. "She's been building an army."

"Please!" The Doctor shouted in his most commanding voice, "one explanation at a time! Does _everybody_ know what's going on?"

"Thank you for that, Doctor," Romana said as patronisingly as possible, "but I'll take it from here."

The Doctor opened his mouth and raised a finger to object, then thought better of it.

"While the fallen and the k'thellid were rebuilding their civilisation, the Oculus was being used to build a fleet. When the time is right, Pengallia intends to lead her people back to Gallifrey, to assume their rightful place as Lords of Time. But her ships need a crew, which is why the two races need to work together. Both want revenge, and neither can conquer Gallifrey on its own."

"Excellent!" The Doctor clapped his hands together, stepping directly in front of Romana to obscure her from the abbot and his audience. "That's the plot, now can we get back to unmasking Pengallia? Perhaps you'd all like to form an orderly queue. Abbot, protector…"

There was an electronic chirrup. "Master, mistress."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "It would appear that K9 has something to add," he stooped to whisper through gritted teeth to his robotic pet. "This had better be good."

"Good? I am in no position to assign value judgements to the data I am presenting. I merely wished to correct the mistresses assumption that there may be insufficient numbers to crew a war fleet. A large number of hybrids, whose biodata is approximately two-thirds Demosian and one third k'thellid, are being kept in hibernation in the k'thellid undercity."

"They are?" The Doctor's eyes widened, and he patted the dog appreciatively. "Good work, K9." He looked up and around the chamber before asking a question. "Does anybody have a bone?"

"So," the abbot blinked, completely failing to understand the Doctor's last remark, "where's Pengallia?"

"Oh, for goodness sake man, haven't you worked it out yet?" The Doctor said, taking him by the shoulder and turning him around to point at the protector. "It's him!"

Protector K'thellid's palanquin rose into the air as colours flashed across its skin. As it did so, its tentacles unfurled and reached forwards and down, taking a grip on the floor. The palanquin dipped as the protector's bulk shifted forwards and its large ugly mass blurred as it slid over the edge of the floating disk.

The protector's body began to shift into a new form. Tentacles began to form into legs and arms while the torso stretched and contracted in equal measure, taking on an altogether more human shape.

The protector's body stabilised into that of a woman, perched elegantly on the front edge of the palanquin. She was tall, blonde, mature, beautiful, regal, and completely naked.

Scurrying forwards, Teyamat paused beside the Doctor just long enough to grasp his kaftan and pull it free. Before he could pass comment she was already using it to cover her mistress's modesty.

With barely a glance at the crone, the Silver Queen stretched out her hand, clicking her fingers. As she did so, the three shadowy hounds at Romana's side cocked their heads and pricked what passed for their ears. A moment later they had abandoned their new mistress to return to their old one, passing through the intervening space like streaks of smoke. Taking their place at Pengallia's side, they began to sniff and nuzzle her fingers as she addressed the room.

"Congratulations Doctor," she nodded at the two time lords, "and Romana. After two million years of peace I don't think the k'thellid need a leader to convince them that we need to work together. And now that the fallen know their true heritage, I'm sure the two races will be able to work together."

"You're still set on invading Gallifrey then?" Romana asked.

"Soon," she said, her eyes sparkling as she challenged her fellow time lords, "but I'll be needing to prepare my fleet first."

Leaning forwards, Teyamat whispered quietly into her ear, and she smiled.

"Give it to me," she said to Romana, holding out her hand.

"I'll be needing some assurances first," said Romana, taking out the silver sphere.

"Assurances?" Pengallia smiled, adjusting the Doctor's kaftan before standing up and walking over to Romana. "I must say," she circled her descendant, "you're not what I'd come to expect from the homeworld."

"Why thank you," the Doctor interrupting the slightly catty looks passing between his companion and her ancestor. "I can assure you we're not what they've come to expect on the homeworld either. So where does this leave us? Free to leave, or the first victims in your next crusade?"

"I don't know," Pengallia smiled. "That rather depends upon Romana here. Are you going to stand in my way?"

"I want to," Romana said, squaring up to Pengallia until their noses were almost touching, "but the Doctor tells me that history requires you to carry out your invasion."

"It does?" Pengallia smiled. "That would explain you, then. You're a symbol of my certain victory."

"We may be related," Romana pressed the silver sphere into Pengallia's hand, "but it doesn't follow that you'll win."

"Ladies, ladies," the Doctor stepped between them. "You both know we shouldn't discuss the future. I just need to make sure your attack on Gallifrey happens in the right time and place."

"You're part of my history now, Doctor. I know the laws of time better than that."

"What about the treaty?" The abbot was getting agitated by talk of fleets and invasions. "You offered to broker a deal, Doctor."

The time lord shrugged apologetically.

"Majestrix?"

"That's not an option, Gesar. Vengeance requires me to attack while Pandak is still President. And there's point making a treaty with a future we helped to create. When we break the time loop, we'll appear only a second after we were imprisoned. The counterstrike will be devastating."

"Does this mean that we can go?" The Doctor asked hopefully.

"Of course," Pengallia stood down, casting a final glance at Romana before returning to the floating palanquin. "It's good to see that my old body's been put to good use."

"Romana, Doctor." Teyamat scuttled forwards to give them both a hug. "It's been a hoot," she told the Doctor before turning to Romana. "Remember," she said, "Talk to him. Walk the eight fold path."

"I will," she smiled. "I suspect what's happened here will make it inevitable."

Taking Romana's hand, the Doctor led her into the TARDIS, and the doors started to close.

"Master!" K9 trundled after them, slipping inside without a moment to spare.

* * *

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor quickly released Romana's hand and ran towards the broken console. Even in the dim light he could see smoke was rising from the shattered time rotor, and that sparks of electricity criss-crossed the panels.

"What have you done!"

"Nothing that can't be fixed, Doctor, said Romana, closing the doors just as K9 slipped inside. "But we need to talk."

"Talk?" The Doctor fiddled with some of the undamaged controls, bringing auxiliary power online and disconnecting the dimensional stabiliser. At least it would _look_ like the TARDIS had just dematerialised. "We need to fix this."

"I can do that for you," Romana said, pulling a small object from inside her robes. "Watch." Pulling back one of the console panels, she forced it inside before pulling up the architectural configuration system and setting to work with the sonic screwdriver. "We're still slaved to the _Temperlost_, so we can salvage whatever parts we need from there."

"The _Temperlost_?" A grave look fell across the Doctor's face as he whispered, "Romana, what have you done?"

"I couldn't let her have it, Doctor." As she spoke, the ship's controls started to repair themselves. Panels replaced themselves, screens refreshed, buttons reappeared, and in the centre of the console the smashed exo-glass casing that surrounded the time rotor was replaced with a pristine facsimile. "While you were off on your jaunt I received a new TARDIS through the t-mail system. Well, an heirloom, really. It used to belong to an aunt of mine."

"You gave Pengallia an old TARDIS and kept the fleet for yourself? Do you realise what you've done?"

"I'm saving us, Doctor," she said as a sparkling new time rotor began to rise and fall.

"Saving us? From what?"

"The future. If Pengallia wins that civil war she'll introduce the k'thellid biodata into the matrix. It's the only way the time lords can tap into K'thannid's power."

"But… that's what happened. The web of time…"

"Think about it, Doctor. The first time you touch the telepathic circuits or make mental contact with another time lord, what will happen?"

"Ah." The Doctor paused as he realised the consequences of such an action. "You do realise that you've _wilfully_ changed the course of Gallifreyan history."

"But I did it to save Gallifreyan history."

"But it won't be the same. Think of the changes that will have accrued over two million years? It's not too late to go back and give that thing back."

Romana shook her head. "I'd rather we dropped it in the middle of a black hole somewhere. Besides, there's still a good chance that Pengallia can rebuild her fleet and mount an invasion. She still has a TARDIS after all."

"That's true," the Doctor mused. "So, fate is back in her hands, instead of ours."

"As if we never got involved," Romana added.

"Well," the Doctor rubbed his hands together. "In the mean time, we'll have to sever the link to Gallifrey. At least until we know how history resolves itself."

"Already done it," Romana said smugly, tossing the screwdrider back to the Doctor. "Did it ever occur to you that the randomiser is useless if the Black Guardian can just use our telepathic link with Gallifrey? You only use it for t-mail anyway, and you never read that."

"Hmm. I suppose its comforting to know that most of the time spam I'll be ignoring comes from the Black Guardian."

"Be serious, Doctor. As long as I have this biodata, being around you is dangerous for my health."

"So, what do you propose?"

"There are things about you, Doctor. Thing's you've never told me. I want to know why you don't have k'thellid biodata, and why some of your history is… contradictory. I need to walk the eight fold path."

"Ah." The Doctor frowned. "That's all rather personal. Besides, the eight fold path is just a bit of old mumbo jumbo practised by monks and hermits. Not at all becoming of a time lady."

"Doctor…" she arched an eyebrow threateningly.

"Alright, alright!" He raised his hands in mock surrender. "The eight fold path it is. But don't blame me if you end up as my great-grandmother once removed!"


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

After four centuries as leader of the free universe, Romanadvoratrelundar, the four hundred and thirteenth President of Gallifrey, was ready to go home. Unlike her predecessor, whose life had been devastated by only a few years in the presidency, Romana seemed to have been strengthened, even reinvigorated, by her experiences. But after two terms of office she had had enough. She still loved the job of being president, and, barring a couple of assassination attempts, a few temporal hiccups and the odd war, hers had been one of the most successful presidencies in history. Her early years – a time of political and social reform – had exceeded even herown high expectations.

But there were dark times ahead, and Romana knew that her leadership wouldn't survive the coming conflict. She may have managed to silence her critics in the past, but there was no way she could count on the people to support her in the future. Her presidency would soon be over – and that was fine by her. She was ready to return to her estate near the southern mountains and resume her private life as Romana, time lady.

With just two spans before she was due to address the gathered assembly of a thousand senior time lords, her personal bodyguard, Antrobus, stepped into the Hexagonal Office for the last time. Immaculately dressed in the starched black uniform of the Presidential Guard, he snapped his heels to attention, smartly shouldering his polished staser rifle. Filing into the Hexagonal Office were her personal assistant Sylvian, her secretary Hardin, her best friend Leela, and a Public Register videographer. The videographer circled around the outer wall of the office, trying to become one with the bronze cog-inset walls whilst using his camera to record the last microspans of the Romana years.

Romana paused in the centre of the room, looking down at the Seal of Rassilon embedded into the floor before turning her attention to the rest of the room. The office looked bare and clinical to the outgoing president, having been cleared of all her holograms, mementos, and other personal effects. Even K9's kennel was gone, leaving a worn square patch in one of the corners of the room. Her desk was bare of everything but a small white hypercube.

The president sat down at her desk, picked up the ansible, and concentrated. The sides of the cube folded outwards to form the hypertunnel through which she would make her last communication as president. It was a personal communication. One of her ordinals, Peora, had undergone a particularly traumatic regeneration, and was fighting for her life. Having failed to reach her family through the Office of the Surgeon-General, she had instructed K9 to hack into the public record and track down her next of kin, whith whom she talked for several minutes. As she was talking, the Chancellor came into the office, accompanied by Tarran, the Commander of the Chancellory Guard.

After Romana said her goodbyes and closed the ansible, she leaned back and chatted with the aides who had gathered around her. She talked about her favourite room in the Winter Palace residence, the Green Room, and told them about the rude message she had left for her successor on a post-it note in the desk drawer. They laughed when she told them what it said, before pausing to soak up the poignancy of the moment.

Hardin stepped forward and briefed the president on the schedule for her last day in office. He told her where she was to stand during the inauguration ceremony, when she would be taking the secret route to the Capitol Spaceport to give a speech to well-wishing offworlder from the Alliance, and when she would be boarding the skimmer that would take her to her country retreat on the shores of Lake Abydos. As Hardin completed the briefing, the president reached into her robes and withdrew a small silver sphere.

"I don't think I'll be needing this anymore," she said, offering the object to the Chancellor. "Would you give this to my successor?"

Romana remembered when she authorised the sphere's retrieval from the heart of a black hole. The ultimate deterrent. She had carried it with her throughout her presidency, but nobody knew exactly what it was.

"I should on to it, Madam President," said the Chancellor. "You're still the Commander-in-Chief. You can turn it in after he's sworn in as president."

Romana nodded and placed the sphere back into her pocket.

Then the Commander stepped forward and gave Romana shortest security briefing of her entire presidency. "The universe is quiet today, Madam President," he said.

The videographer captured a few more scenes, including some group moments with everyone huddled around their leader, who remained seated at her desk. After the pictures, Sylvian said, "It's time, Madam President."

Romana stood and faced the door that led out into the Memorial Garden. A direct transmat link to the Panopticon waited for her on the other side. There she would deliver her resignation speech, calling for the election of her successor. She had refused to name a successor – the Time Lords would have to take that responsibility for themselves.

Sylvian moved aside as the door swished open. The president stepped forward – then paused at the threshold for one last glance at the room that had been her workplace and sanctuary for the last four centuries. She paused for a few microspans, thinking private thoughts while her aides waited for her in silence.

Then Romana turned and stepped out of the Winter Palace, and into history.


End file.
